


Your heart is keeping time with me

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Series: Your heart is keeping time with me [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 50 First Dates AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Like the slowest burn I've ever written in my life, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Loss, POV Patrick Brewer, Panic Attacks, Refractory periods are for the weak, Rimming, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, There's a bit of Patrick/Rachel but like... no sex and they break up pretty quickly so, and all the medical inaccuracies that come with that concept, everything's made up and the timeline doesn't matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: “You’re coping with all this really well, Patrick,” Twyla says as she collects the dishes from the table, and Patrick’s stomach drops.He’d forgotten.Between all the jokes about the fine dining of Café Tropical, and Patrick throwing as many sports metaphors at David as he could think of to watch him squirm, and David regaling him with tales of his family’s dysfunctional past… Patrick forgot for a moment that tomorrow, David will once again have no recollection that they have ever met.Or, the 50 First Dates AUno one asked forsomeone asked for, because this was written for a prompt fest after all ;)
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Alexis Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Your heart is keeping time with me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754158
Comments: 266
Kudos: 394
Collections: Reel Schitt's Creek Prompt Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RhetoricalQuestions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricalQuestions/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [RhetoricalQuestions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricalQuestions/pseuds/RhetoricalQuestions) in the [Reel_Schitts_Creek](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Reel_Schitts_Creek) collection. 



> We all know that time is a little Jeremy Bearimy on this show at the best of times, but while the main action of this story starts at 3.08 and diverges from canon from there, we also have to assume that there's been quite a bit of time between the canonical 3.07 and the 3.08 parallel we see in this universe, which means events in later seasons of canon might appear "earlier" in this story, or things might happen in a different order. Basically, it's all made up and the timeline doesn't matter, from David and Patrick's first meeting onwards :)
> 
> Title is from Aqualung.

The summer before Patrick Brewer turns 29, suddenly everyone around him is getting married. They go to four weddings in three months, and Rachel is a bridesmaid twice; the second time she catches the bouquet when it’s tossed and Henry, standing next to Patrick, laughs and punches him in the shoulder.

It’s been a shockingly long time since the last time they broke up, and they’re even living together.  _ That is the logical next step, _ he thinks. 

He goes to a jewellery store, buys the one ring the salesperson recommends that’s actually in his price range, and plans a dinner with Rachel’s parents and sister for her birthday. He gets down on one knee before dessert and asks her to marry him, almost bowled over when she screams with joy and leaps on him with a “Yes, yes, of course, yes,” kissing all over his face in between each word. Her family beams at him, and she weeps happily as Patrick slides the ring on her finger. Throughout dessert, she bounces one knee up and down, looking at her left hand and grinning.

Patrick can’t help thinking he’s supposed to feel… more. It isn’t bad, none of it is bad, but that thing that people feel in the movies  — Patrick has never felt that. Not with Rachel, not with anyone. He’s never been the type of guy to fireman lift a girl and fling her on the bed with wild abandon. He chalks it up to just not being a very passionate person, and ignores the tiny sense of disquiet deep in his gut.

* * *

Their engagement doesn’t implode, in the end. It dies by a thousand cuts.

They limp along for months. Rachel tries, tentatively, to start wedding planning in earnest, and while Patrick’s happy to talk about things like guest lists and colour schemes, every time they need to get specific  — when it comes to choosing a date, or booking a venue  — he balks. He doesn’t even consciously realise he’s doing it until finally, Rachel snaps.

Over dinner one night, she starts talking about a beautiful B&B outside of Kitchener she found online who provide wedding packages. She’s excited, waving her hands around animatedly as she describes the gardens and the sweeping staircase. Patrick  _ oh_s and _ mm-hmm_s his way through the conversation, hunched over his plate, swallowing spaghetti past the knot in his stomach, and it takes him several seconds to notice that she’s trailed off and is staring intently at him. 

He looks quizzically at her across the table. “What’s up?”

Rachel takes a deep breath, then another, and asks, “Patrick, do you actually want to marry me?”

Patrick opens his mouth.  _ Of course I do _ is on the tip of his tongue, the platitudes he’s been making for most of their relationship. What comes out instead, shocking even himself, is “No. I don’t.”

He watches her face crumple and almost takes it back. He doesn’t want to hurt her, has never wanted to hurt her, and realises with a flash of clarity that every step forward in their relationship from high school to now has been about  _ not wanting to hurt her, _ and he’s been hurting himself instead, without knowing it. 

He can’t do it anymore. He’s so damn tired.

Rachel doesn’t yell, and she doesn’t sob, but tears pour silently down her face as she watches him pack up his essentials. Patrick thinks he should say something, try to help, but the words stick in his throat. 

His hand is on the doorknob when she mutters, “We’ve broken up before. You’ll be back.”

_ Not this time, _ he thinks, and then he’s out the door. 

* * *

He winds up calling Henry, and while a small part of him can’t help being offended at how unsurprised Henry is by the news, it’s fair enough really  — he and Henry have been friends since college, so he’s been witness to Patrick and Rachel’s breakup/makeup cycle a number of times. He just slaps Patrick’s back when Patrick arrives with an overnight bag, gives him a beer, and points him to the guest bedroom.

In the morning he waits until Rachel goes to work then goes over to their — her — apartment, packing up the rest of his things. He thought figuring out what belonged to who would be difficult, but there’s surprisingly little that they really shared. 

It takes three days, all up. Three days to completely detangle their lives from one another, three days to pack his entire life into some cardboard boxes and stash them in Henry’s garage.  _ This should have taken longer, _ he thinks, and it’s this more than anything that makes him realise he’s made the right decision. 

A few days later, he’s sitting on the couch next to Henry watching television when he blurts out, “I think I need to leave town. Get a fresh start.”

Patrick isn’t prone to snap decisions like that, but as soon he verbalises it, he knows it’s the right thing to do. The apartment may not have felt entangled with Rachel, but the rest of their life is — the same friends, same local café, she even works across the street from the space he leases for work. He worries that if he stays, he’ll wind up falling back into old habits, go back to Rachel because it’s easier. It’s not fair to either of them.

Henry just nods, taking a swig of his beer. “Got somewhere in mind?”

Patrick definitely hasn’t thought that far ahead. “Haven’t a clue. Just… away from here.”

Henry hums in acknowledgement. “Well, if you don’t mind podunk towns, I might have a suggestion.”

“I grew up in a podunk town,” Patrick laughs. “I can do podunk.”

“My cousin Ray lives a few hours from here, and he keeps posting these long rambling Facebook statuses about renting out office space to ‘local entrepreneurs’. He’s a little chatty, but a good dude, and I think he’s on the town council or something, so he’d know a bunch of the locals. I’ve never been, but the way Ray describes it, it’s your pretty typical roadside small town.”

Patrick’s surprised by how much the idea appeals to him. “What’s the town?”

* * *

Less than a week later, Patrick’s driving to his new life. 

He still can’t believe Henry wasn’t messing with him when he told Patrick the name of the place he was heading. Patrick hopes it isn’t a sign of the experience he’s likely to have there.

This isn’t like him. Patrick is a meticulous planner; a spreadsheets, pro/con lists, cost-benefit analysis kind of guy, not a ‘dozen Facebook messages with a stranger to arrange a room and some office space’ kind of guy. And yet here he is, his car packed full of the parts of his old life he couldn’t bring himself to donate, driving to a town called, of all things,  _ Schitt’s Creek. _

There’s a tiny part of him, despite seeing the map for himself clear as day, that still thinks maybe it’s all an elaborate joke — right up until he drives past possibly the most ridiculous town sign he’s ever seen. This place can’t be for real, can it?

He pulls in at the address he was given and grabs just his overnight bag. It’s well past dinner, and he thinks it’s unlikely he’ll find the energy to unpack the whole car tonight, so he triple-checks that it’s locked before he knocks on Ray’s door.

Henry was right — Ray is definitely a talker. It takes Patrick several hours of polite chit-chat to finally make his way upstairs to the room he’s renting, and by then he can barely muster the energy to change into his pyjamas before he flops face-first into the mattress. He’s bone-tired, but somehow he still feels more relaxed than he has in… well, years, if he’s being completely honest with himself.

He thinks Schitt’s Creek could be good for him.

* * *

Patrick hits the ground running the next morning, which is what he does best. Ray is a lot but he’s also incredibly generous, getting the word out that a new business consultant is in town. Ray cleared a desk for him in the corner of his home office slash photography studio (and seriously, how many businesses can one guy run?) and happily transfers all the business and financial appointments he’s accumulated into Patrick’s planner.

“Now Patrick,” he says, smile dipping a little, “there’s one appointment today I need to bring to your attention. Do you know that the Rose family live here in town?”

A very dim bell rings in the back of Patrick’s head somewhere. “The Rose family, like, Rose Video? Those Roses?”

Ray nods.

“Huh, I worked at a Rose Video in high school. They live  _ here? _ Aren’t they—” he stutters to a stop, suddenly realising that what he wanted to say —  _ aren’t they super rich? —  _ might come across as horribly offensive towards Ray’s hometown.

“Yes, they lost all their money a few years ago. Very humiliating, a huge fall from grace. Incredibly embarrassing for Johnny Rose. Anyway, they own the town, and so they moved here! The whole family live in the motel. Now, there is an appointment there for David Rose to fill out some business incorporation paperwork, but you need to—”

The doorbell rings, cutting Ray off. “Ah, just one minute Patrick, that will be my photography clients. They’re very early.”

But it’s not; it’s someone who needs Ray’s help with a last-minute travel booking for a funeral, and while Ray’s dealing with that someone arrives to talk to Patrick about their tax status, and then a couple arrive for an engagement photoshoot with Ray, and so Patrick’s forgotten all about their aborted discussion about David Rose by the time the man in question walks through the door.

Patrick’s first impression of him is that he’s never met a more confident person in his life. Everything about David — his mannerisms, his clothing, his… charisma, the way he waves his hands around — screams self-assured to the point of not giving a shit. Patrick’s sure that whatever  _ this _ man’s business idea is, it’s going to be amazing.

It’s not amazing. 

Well, to be fair, it might be amazing, but Patrick can’t actually tell because David is apparently unable to verbalise it, or even give it a name. He can’t quite help the smirk he knows is on his face, or remarking on David’s complete lack of helpfulness regarding anything he can actually use on the incorporation paperwork, and he can tell David has absolutely no idea what to make of him. That’s fine, because Patrick has no idea what to make of David, either. He ends up handing over the paperwork along with his business card, sure that David is going to need some help filling it out.

He does expect to get a phone call from David eventually; what he didn’t expect was to get back from a lunch run to  _ nine _ voicemails from him. They start with “Hi David, it’s Patrick”, which is hilarious enough, and somehow manage to get even more rambling from there. He puts his voicemail on speakerphone and Ray turns to listen to the voicemails, chuckling a little, but he doesn’t seem as amused as Patrick is. “Poor David,” he says, but before Patrick can ask what he means Ray looks at his watch, swears, says something about a house viewing, and runs out the door.

Patrick looks down at his phone, which is playing voicemail number four — and hang on, what did David just say? It sounds like… well, it sounds like a really good business model, is what it sounds like. He opens his legal pad to a fresh page and starts taking notes.

When Ray walks back in the door over an hour later David Rose is right behind him, sheepishly holding his incorporation paperwork. He’s scribbled all over it and Patrick can’t help but grin when he sees it, or when David confesses he needs a replacement.

The thing is, pieced together from David’s rambling, there is a  _ really _ solid idea here. It needs refining, for sure, but David has the bones of something really special, and Patrick makes sure to tell him so as he hands over the incorporation paperwork he filled out based on the voicemails. He does also tease about said voicemails because he can’t help it, but David does snark right back, which Patrick enjoys. David’s smiling down at the folder as he says goodbye.

Ray watches David leave, then turns to Patrick. “I think I got halfway through telling you earlier —” he starts, but is cut off by his cell phone ringing. While he’s on the call, Patrick’s next client arrives — he can’t believe how many people Ray managed to arrange for him to see on his first day — and the mystery of whatever Ray has been trying to tell him about David flies out of his head as he focuses on the woman in front of him.

* * *

Ray’s in the middle of another photoshoot when Patrick finishes up with his last appointment of the day. He decides to head over to the  café he grabbed lunch from for dinner as well, and winds up chatting with a slightly kooky but very sweet waitress there. When he mentions he’s new in town but staying a while she introduces him to a woman named Ronnie who’s sitting in the booth behind him. She’s headed over to the local bar and invites Patrick to join her for a drink. One drink turns into several as they talk about baseball (there’s a local league) and business (Ronnie’s in general trades and is also on the town council, which means she has a lot of stories), and by the time he makes his way back home, far later than he’d like to admit, Ray has already gone to bed.

It was a long day, and Patrick feels like he’s met half the town in the last 24 hours, but for reasons completely unfathomable to him it’s David Rose he’s thinking about when he closes his eyes.

* * *

Patrick has always been a morning person, so he’s up nice and early the next day. He puts on his running gear and tiptoes down the stairs and out of the house so he doesn’t wake Ray. 

He doesn’t really know his way around yet, but luckily Schitt’s Creek is a hard town to get lost in. He just picks a direction and runs, turning down side streets when the urge strikes him, running until his calves are burning. When his sides start to ache he slows down and makes his way back to the town centre mostly on instinct. He’s relieved to see the  café is already open and he makes his way inside for a breakfast smoothie.

The waitress from last night is behind the counter —  _ Twyla, _ his brain supplies — and when she spots his running gear she offers one of her personal post-workout concoctions. Patrick accepts gratefully and as Twyla heads back to the kitchen to make it Patrick leans back against the counter, his eyes scanning the  café idly before freezing when he spots David Rose, tucked into the corner of a booth and digging into what looks like eggs benedict. 

There’s a twist in Patrick’s stomach he doesn’t recognise, and he can feel a smile spreading across his face. David eats with the same intensity he used to try and explain his business concept yesterday; he looks like he’s savouring every bite, eyes closing as he chews and swallows, and Patrick’s mouth is suddenly, inexplicably, a little dry. His legs are carrying him over to the booth almost before he realises what he’s doing, sliding in opposite David who furrows his brow as he looks up, mouth full.

“Morning, David,” he grins across the table. “What are we oscillating over today?”

David swallows. “Um, excuse me?” He has a look of complete bewilderment on his face. Maybe he uses words like  _ oscillate _ so often it doesn’t register as weird enough to stick in his brain the way it has for Patrick.

“Oh, nothing,” Patrick says breezily. “I was just wondering if I might be treated to more titillating voicemails today, or whether I’ll have to find some other source of entertainment.”

David’s mouth twists. “Okay, I have no idea what this—” he waves his hands wildly in Patrick’s general direction “—is, but you have that weird, repressed accountant thing going on, so. If I like, sucked your dick in the bathroom stall in a bar once or something, no offence, but I did that a lot and was also probably  _ on _ a lot, so don’t take it personally that I don’t remember you. Please feel free to fuck off somewhere else though, like very far away from me,” he blurts out, all in one breath, his back pressing into the cushion behind him as though he wants to be as far away from Patrick as humanly possible. 

Patrick feels like the ground is shifting underneath him. He’d think David’s pranking him, except his face is  _ furious  _ and his eyes are a little wild. “Wait — you think I’m — what the _hell_?” Patrick blurts out. He’s so confused, and he must have said it louder than intended because suddenly Twyla is at his elbow, hauling him bodily out of the booth.

“Patrick, come with me,” she says firmly. 

“But I just—” 

_ “Now,”  _ she says, and her smile never slips but she’s a hell of a lot stronger than she looks because she’s pulling Patrick along with her out of the  café and into the sunlight.

“Okay, Twyla, do you mind telling me what’s going on? Why did David just go feral on me? I spent a bunch of time with him yesterday going over his business incorporation; why did he just accuse me of —” Patrick isn’t even sure what David  _ did _ accuse him of, exactly, but he knows David had looked both apoplectic and a little scared. Patrick has no idea what he did wrong.

Twyla sighs, her eyes closing for a moment. “Did Ray seriously not tell you about David? He had  _ one _ job, honestly.”

“No, he didn’t say — wait,” he cuts himself off, suddenly remembering all the half-started conversations with Ray yesterday. “He did keep trying to tell me something, but we got interrupted every time it came up.”

Twyla rubs her temple, looking pained. “Okay, ugh. Guess this is my job now. Fine. The thing is, Patrick, David is… special.”

Patrick snorts before he can stop himself. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Twyla shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand. About five months ago, David was in a car accident. It was the stupidest thing — he and his sister were driving to Elmdale and this cow had escaped from the Amish community out that way, wandered out onto the road. They hit it, pretty fast. Flipped the car.”

“Oh my God,” Patrick whispers.

“Anyway, Alexis was okay — she broke her wrist, but otherwise, hardly a scratch on her. David, though…” she hesitates, as though she’s searching for the words.

“David…?”

“He hit his head, really bad. He wound up damaging… I don’t know exactly what part of the brain, like medically, but basically his short term memory is completely gone. It’s called Goldfield's Syndrome.”

Whatever Patrick was expecting, it sure wasn’t that. “So he has no memories?” 

“No, his long-term memory is fine. He remembers everything, right up to the day before his car accident. After that though… nothing. When he goes to sleep at night, it’s like his slate is wiped clean. He wakes up every day thinking it’s November 13.”

November 13 is Rachel’s birthday. It’s the day they got engaged. And while he was 200 miles away, proposing to his on-again off-again girlfriend and feeling guilty for not being excited enough, David’s entire life was being destroyed. Patrick feels flushed, and a little ill; all his problems suddenly seem very small and pathetic in comparison to what David has been going through, the last few months.

Well… more than  _ a few _ months.

“November 13?” Patrick asks, incredulous. “It’s the middle of  _ April. _ How does he not realise it’s not actually November?

Twyla shrugs. “Well, the weather here is actually freakishly consistent year-round, so that helps. He lives with his sister and parents at the motel; the motel owner is a friend of David’s, and she got a whole heap of newspapers from that day printed up. The Roses get those, and… this is a small town, and David’s one of us, whether he would ever actually admit it or not. We look out for him, his parents do what they can, and his sister has basically given up her life for him.”

Patrick shakes his head. “But… what about the general store? He’s leased it; I saw the paperwork. That’s how I met him in the first place — I was filling out his business incorporation.”

“Yeah,” Twyla frowns. “He signed the lease a couple of weeks before the accident. It’s all a bit in limbo at the moment; legally, it’s his, but obviously he’s never actually going to get a store in there. No one else wants the lease right now though, so I guess the Roses will deal with that when they have to. He goes to see Ray, every day, and Ray fills out the paperwork for him, and then just doesn’t file it.”

“Holy shit,” Patrick says, almost to himself. It’s a lot to take in. “Uh, should I go in and apologise to him?”

“Honestly?” Twyla asks, and Patrick nods. “I wouldn’t. David is, um, a bit neurotic — nothing to do with the accident, he’s always been like that — and you got him pretty wound up. I’d leave him alone. After all, it’s not like he’ll remember it tomorrow.”

Patrick stares at her; his brain hadn’t even caught up to that yet. “I… yeah, I guess you’re right,” he breathes. “Okay, well, uh, I guess I’ll head home then. Thanks, Twyla. Sorry if I caused a scene.”

Twyla smiles kindly at him. “It’s not your fault, Patrick. You didn’t know. Oh, wait!” She cries as Patrick starts to turn away. She runs back into the  café and comes out again a second later with the smoothie he’d ordered; he’d completely forgotten, with everything that happened since. It’s a slightly concerning moss-green colour but he takes it, smiling gratefully.

She pats his arm. “I can tell you feel bad, Patrick. Please don’t. Tell Ray he should though, a little,” and she gives him a little wave as she heads back inside.

Patrick starts walking towards home. He’s thinking about David, living each day over and over without realising it, while all the people around him humour him. Absent-mindedly, he takes a sip of his smoothie — and promptly gags as the taste assaults him. It’s very, very bad.

The smoothie tossed in the first garbage can he sees, Patrick finally makes it back home. As soon as he steps inside the door Ray is there, grabbing him.

“Patrick! I woke up this morning, and I realised we never got a chance to talk about David Rose —”

Patrick scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, uh, a bit late for that conversation now, unfortunately,” he says, and tells Ray all about the conversation at the  café, his confusion, and Twyla’s explanation. He makes sure to tell Ray that Twyla said he should feel bad — to Ray’s credit, it’s fairly obvious that he does.

“Anyway, uh, you might need to take David’s incorporation appointment again today, one last time,” he says. “And I can take over from tomorrow… you know, once he’s forgotten that he thinks I’m some kind of crazy stalker.” He knows his face is twisting, and Ray pats him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry too much, Patrick — we’ve all managed to put our foot in it somehow with David once or twice. And he was pretty highly strung even before his accident, so it’s not surprising.”

Patrick frowns a little. Twyla said something similar and even though he doesn’t think either of them meant it in a cruel way, it makes him uncomfortable nonetheless; he feels a little defensive of David, despite having known him for all of 24 hours. He doesn’t say as much to Ray, though, just thanking him before he heads upstairs to take a shower.

He’s still thinking about David a few hours later when Ray calls up to tell him David had gone for the day, and that he can safely head back to his desk after hiding upstairs during David’s appointment. He sits down, vaguely aware of Ray shredding David’s incorporation paperwork across the room.

Obviously, there is a lot of history he’s missing. And David is, though completely unaware and able to function in his ignorance, extremely unwell. But Patrick can tell, even in the few short conversations they’ve had, that David is incredibly smart and has some great ideas. Almost unthinkingly he takes out the piece of paper he scribbled all over yesterday where he’d tucked it in his desk drawer, the one he’d used to puzzle out David’s business plan from all the voicemails he’d left. This plan is solid, and it would be a great addition to a town like Schitt’s Creek. The thought of David living this… weird time loop situation, never moving forward, makes Patrick’s chest ache.

He smooths out the piece of paper, and stares down at it for a long time. 

* * *

Later that afternoon, Patrick’s just thinking about packing up for the day when a blonde woman comes breezing into the room and sits down at the chair in front of his desk before he can even stand up. She’s stunning in a beachy, model sort of way, and looks incredibly out of place on the worn office chair she’s sitting on. Frankly, she looks out of place for the entire town.

“Hi, I’m Alexis,” she says, reaching out a hand for him to shake.

It takes Patrick a second for the name to click. “Oh, you’re David’s sister,” he realises after a moment, and she smiles at him. 

“Sure am,” she says. “Twy told me you had a bit of a run-in with David at the  café this morning.”

Patrick flushes. “Alexis, I am so, so sorry,” he starts. “No one told me —”

She reaches across the table, placing both hands on top of his. “Oh Patrick, honey, no,” she interjects quickly. “I’m not here to like, yell at you, or whatever. I just wanted to check in, because you’re new to town, and Twy said she’d told you what the deal is with David but like, I know it’s a lot. So I just wanted to come and meet you, see if there’s anything you wanted me to run you through, or whatever. Especially if you’re taking over business stuff, and you’re going to see him every day.”

Patrick swallows hard. “Is he happy?” It’s almost under his breath and he didn’t even realise it was what he wanted to ask until it’s already out of his mouth.

Alexis smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I think so, mostly,” she says quietly. “As far as he knows, he’s getting ready to start a business, under his own steam for the first time in his life. He’s got a good friend in Stevie, and honestly, the whole town looks out for him in their own weird ways. If it had happened earlier, when we first came to Schitt’s Creek, it could have been a whole lot worse. But he’s settled here, now, and he’s doing good.”

Patrick nods. “And… what about you? Are you good?”

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

Patrick’s suddenly very aware that he’s known this girl all of three minutes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean — I just — Twyla said you were in the car accident too. That must have been scary.”

Alexis’ eyes widen. “I was driving,” she whispers, staring down at her hands.

_ God, _ Patrick thinks, but he doesn’t say anything. He can’t even begin to imagine the guilt she must be feeling. She looks up after a moment, visibly shaking it off.

“I’m fine,” she says brightly — too brightly. “A twinge in my wrist when it’s stormy, but that’s a cool party trick, really. And I like looking out for David. God knows he spent enough of his life looking out for me.”

Patrick wonders about that, but before he can ask Alexis is holding out her hand. “Patrick, give me your phone,” she says, and Patrick’s handing it over before his brain can catch up.

“I’m giving you my number,” Alexis says, “and feel free to text me anytime, okay?” For a second Patrick wonders if she’s hitting on him, but she continues. “If anything happens with David, anything at all, that you think we should know about, just let me know. Seriously, any time. If you think it’s important, I want to know.” She grins at him as she hands his phone back. “Can’t be missing out on all that hot David gossip!”

Patrick suddenly has a flash of who Alexis must have been, before all this. Underneath this serious girl worried about her brother, there’s a glimpse of a bright, bubbly social butterfly. Patrick wonders if she knows how much she’s given up, to be her brother’s caretaker without him even realising, or if she thinks it was worth it if she does.

He smiles at her as he stands up, and reaches out a hand. “I will definitely keep you in the loop,” he promises, but she ignores his hand, coming around the desk to give him a quick hug and a tap on the nose before she flits out the door. Patrick glances across the room to see Ray grinning at him.

“What?” he asks, nonplussed.

Ray laughs. “Oh, nothing, nothing. Just… three days in town and Alexis Rose is all over you!”

Patrick splutters. “That’s not —  _ no,” _ he says vehemently, and is surprised by just how much he means it. Alexis is, objectively speaking, gorgeous, but there’s absolutely no attraction from his end and he says as much to Ray.

Ray doesn’t look like he believes it, but he changes the subject, to Patrick’s relief.

* * *

Patrick’s up before the sun the next morning, and he heads out for a run just as dawn is breaking. He takes off at what he knows is an unsustainable pace, feet pounding the pavement as he weaves his way blindly through the streets.

He’s thinking about David. And maybe it’s a little bit pity, but that’s drowned out by the overwhelming sense of sadness at the thought of this clever guy with great plans for his life living out some sort of inverted Groundhog Day and never actually realising it. He’s also really weirded out about the charade that’s being acted out around David. Patrick knows it’s not his place — he met the guy two days ago, and he knows nothing about their family dynamics or why they’ve chosen to do it this way — but the solution they’ve come up with seems very… infantilizing.

Patrick’s a problem solver. He always has been, and this… well, this is certainly a problem. He’s so deep in thought that he barely notices how much time has passed until he jogs through the town centre and notices the clock. It’s much later than he thought and he swears under his breath, picking up the pace the rest of the way home.

He’s halfway up the stairs when Ray calls out to him. “Patrick!”

Patrick turns. “Sorry, Ray, I’m running a bit later than I thought, can we talk when I come back down?”

“Oh,” Ray says. “I just wanted to check whether you wanted me to take David’s appointment today. I know you haven’t had much time yet to get your head around his condition.”

“No!” Patrick blurts out, quicker than he intended. Ray furrows his brow and Patrick swallows, starting again. “No, that’s okay. I’m happy to do it. I just need to grab a shower first.”

“Okay, Patrick!” Ray says, sunny as ever, and Patrick runs up the rest of the stairs before the conversation can be stretched out further. He showers in record time and is downstairs at his desk five minutes before David arrives.

Patrick takes a deep breath. He can do this. It feels very odd to be introducing himself to someone he already knows and not seeing even the smallest flicker of recognition in return, but he gets through it.

“Why don't we start with the name of the business?”

“Oh,” David says. “I'm tossing up between a couple of names at the moment, so can we come back to that?”

Patrick blinks. That’s not what David had said two days ago. The gist is the same, but Patrick does kind of miss the word ‘oscillate’. He’s been thinking of David repeating the same day over and over but of course, that’s not exactly the case — everything else around him changes, and there’s probably some weird butterfly effect type thing going on. He isn’t sure if that’s going to make things easier or harder for him.

“Well, what are you tossing up between?” he asks. He knows, or thinks he does, but of course, he only found that out from David’s voicemails.

“Um, I’m torn between Rose Apothecary and Rose Emporium,” David replies.

“Okay, good options,” Patrick says. “Well obviously it’s your store and your decision, but for what it’s worth, I like Rose Apothecary. It’s just the right side of pretentious.”

David tilts his head, and he looks like he’s fighting back a smile. “Would we call that pretentious, or timeless?” he asks, and — okay, wow, yeah, it’s definitely weirder hearing David say something he’s said before word for word. Good to know.

Patrick smirks, deliberately avoiding the question. “Okay, well, I’ll leave that one blank for right now and—” 

“No, no,” David interjects. “Put it down. Rose Apothecary.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay,” Patrick stammers. Of course, he had the benefit of knowing David had been leaning towards it anyway, consciously or not, but he still can’t help the rush of pride at knowing his opinion means enough to David to get him to commit to a name. All of a sudden he’s a little warm under his collar, and he pushes forward. 

He skips asking about the business address and just writes in the address of the general store, before moving on to the big one. “A brief description of the business?”

He sits back and can’t quite keep the grin off his face as David’s rambling explanation washes over him. He doesn’t miss the way David’s eyes widen and his hand movements get more pronounced as he speaks. He waits until David finishes and then nods. “So basically you’re rebranding local products and crafts under the umbrella of your store?”

David stares. “Um… yes. That’s exactly it,” he says after a moment. “No one’s ever gotten it that quickly before.” He smiles, and his whole face lights up. Patrick feels a tightening in his chest and he quickly drops his eyes back to the paperwork in front of him. 

They work their way through the rest of the questions and soon Patrick has a fully completed set of paperwork sitting on his desk. They also talk about the general business model of curating a selection of products on consignment and Patrick offers a few tips. Intellectually he knows it’s a waste of time but he can’t stop himself. He likes talking to David, likes how excited talking about the store makes him, and when he glances at his watch he realises in shock that they’ve been chatting for close to two hours.

“Oh, I’m so sorry David, my next appointment is due any second,” Patrick says, standing up. “I will… let you know when the paperwork comes back.”

It feels awful, lying. 

* * *

His last appointment for the day finishes at two and Patrick’s feeling restless. He asks Ray if there are any local walking tracks, and Ray gives him directions to a place called Rattlesnake Point.

“Would you like me to shred David’s paperwork for you?” Ray asks, and Patrick shakes his head. He changes into hiking gear and almost unconsciously slides the incorporation papers into his pack before driving out to the bottom of the trail.

It’s a good hike, with enough of an incline to get Patrick’s heart rate up and shut off his brain. It’s nearly 90 minutes to the top and when he finally makes it, he can’t help but gasp at the incredible view. 

He sits down on one of the flat rocks and just takes it all in for a while. Soon, though, David is creeping slowly back into his brain. He pulls out the incorporation paperwork, and all the notes he took from David’s voicemails, and he starts reading through everything again.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next couple of weeks, Patrick settles into a routine around David’s appointment. He runs in the morning, sometimes stopping in at the café on his way home. When he does he sees David, always in the same booth, always eating eggs benedict like they’re the greatest thing he’s ever tasted. He never approaches the table, though, and he tries not to be caught watching. He spends the rest of his time either working or hanging out with Ray, trying to watch TV over Ray’s incessant chatter. And every day, he sees David at 9:30 am. Ray offered to take David’s appointment on the weekends but Patrick turned him down, more than happy to do it.

He could fill out the incorporation paperwork by rote at this point but of course he doesn’t, letting David steer the conversation and noting the little differences each time. It’s disconcerting; there are days when David practically runs out the door as soon as the paperwork is done and days when they end up joking with each other well past their appointment time. The latter is starting to outweigh the former, though, and Patrick enjoys it. Twice now they’ve wound up talking for so long they run into lunchtime and walk over to the café together; the second time, they actually eat together as well.

Patrick’s pretty sure he’s never laughed so hard in his entire life; David is  _ really _ funny, in a sarcastic sort of way. Patrick realises, though, that his first impression of David Rose was completely wrong — he thought David was the pinnacle of confidence and self-assuredness but it’s actually the opposite. He wraps self-deprecation around himself like armour, but the longer they talk the more a few little glimpses of the real David come through. Patrick likes those the most.

When David says he has to go, he seems reluctant. He stands beside the booth for a moment and gives Patrick a very intense look like he’s thinking about something but in the end, all he says is a soft “Bye, Patrick,” as he leaves, glancing back from the doorway. Patrick watches him go.

“You’re coping with all this really well, Patrick,” Twyla says as she collects the dishes from the table, and Patrick’s stomach drops.

He’d forgotten. 

Between all the jokes about the fine dining of Café Tropical, and Patrick throwing as many sports metaphors at David as he could think of to watch him squirm, and David regaling him with tales of his family’s dysfunctional past… Patrick forgot for a moment that tomorrow, David will once again have no recollection that they have ever met.

“I… yeah, thanks,” he manages after a moment. He drops what he can only hope is enough money on the table before leaving, deep in thought.

As soon as he’s finished working for the day he practically sprints up the stairs. He needs to clear his head, and he thinks a hike up to Rattlesnake Point is the perfect way to do it. He pushes himself harder than is perhaps entirely sensible and winds up at the ridge right as the sun is setting. But as soon as his breathing is back to normal, David is right back in his head. He hasn’t thought about one person this much since…

Actually. Patrick doesn’t think he's ever thought about one person this much. He doesn’t know quite what to make of it.

* * *

The next morning finds Patrick up well before the sun again, and he goes out for a run as soon as there’s enough light. It’s been about 20 minutes when he hears someone calling his name and when he turns there’s Alexis, pulling her headphones out with one hand and waving at him with the other. He waits, jogging on the spot until she catches up.

“Patrick, hi,” she says with a bright smile. “I haven’t seen you out before. Do you have a particular route you run, or…?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Still learning my way around, to be honest, so I tend to just pick a direction at random.”

“Oh. Well, do you mind if I run with you? It’s always nice to have a bit of company.”

“Sure,” Patrick says, and gestures to her to lead the way. He wonders if she has an ulterior motive. He doesn’t know if David ever mentions him after their appointments, and he’s struck with a bizarre urge to ask. He’s not going to, though, because there’s no way to ask  _ hey does your brother ever talk about me _ without sounding like a middle-schooler. He waits for her to speak, but she seems content just to run alongside him, setting a good pace.

Finally, he breaks about ten minutes of silence with “Alexis, can I ask you a question?”

She glances over at him. “Shoot.”

“Why do you let David think it’s still November?”

She slows to a stop and tilts her head at him. “You think it’s cruel.”

“No, that’s not — I wouldn’t say  _ cruel. _ I just don’t get it, I guess. It seems… elaborate. Twyla said you guys have fake newspapers and everything?”

Alexis looks around for a moment, then gestures towards a park bench. “Come sit, Patrick,” she says, and Patrick follows her over, taking a seat when she pats the space beside her.

“David was in the hospital for, like, two months,” she says, not looking at him. “Every day he’d wake up, and the doctors would tell him what was going on, and he would just freak out. It was awful to watch. There’s a lot of stuff in David’s past which I won’t go into, because it’s his business, but… he needs to feel in control. And honestly, even if he didn’t remember all the stress day after day, I feel like going through all that pain all the time is not good for the body. In the end, it just seemed easier not to put him through that anymore.”

“So he’s never been told since leaving the hospital?”

“Oh, yeah. He has to go to the neurologist every month. We drive him out to the hospital and tell him why once we’re already there. If we told him beforehand, I doubt we could get him in the car.”

Patrick nods slowly. “And that’s it?”

“Well… there was one other time, since coming home,” Alexis fiddles with her leggings, pulling off a piece of fluff Patrick is sure doesn’t actually exist. “I… we were arguing about something really stupid, and I blurted it out, and we couldn’t figure out a way to walk it back.”

Patrick holds his breath. “And?”

“And… it was really bad. He, um, went on a three-day bender.”

“He  _ what?” _

Alexis nods, tears pooling in her eyes but not falling. “We told him that his memory resets when he sleeps, so he decided he could cure himself by just… not sleeping. He got wasted and bought a bunch of coke from God knows where. It got messy, he got arrested — and thank goodness for that, actually, because he came down while sitting in jail and then fell asleep. Luckily Roland helped us sort it all out with the police and we managed to get him out and home before he woke up. I’ve never been so grateful for David being such a sound sleeper.” The tears are falling now, and she hurriedly brushes them away.

“God, Alexis, that sounds awful. I’m sorry,” Patrick says, feeling inadequate.

She shrugs. “So, yeah. We don’t tell him anymore.”

Patrick frowns. “And that’s all well and good now, but what about ten years from now, when he wakes up and thinks he’s aged overnight?”

“I know,” Alexis sighs. “I think about that too. Luckily David has the most ridiculous skincare regimen in existence, so we have some time before we have to deal with that.” She stops suddenly and glances down at Patrick’s lap. “Do you need to get that?”

Patrick has no idea what she’s talking about. “Get what?”

“Your phone just went off, like, four times in a row.”

“Oh,” he says, nonplussed. He didn’t even feel it, but pulls his phone out of his pocket. Alexis is right; there are four texts, all from Rachel.

_ Qihuwjq _

_ Whoops! Must have left my phone unlocked _

_ Hope ur doing ok _

_ I miss you :( _

Patrick sighs. They’d done this dance before. Funny how Rachel never once ‘left her phone unlocked’ while they were together, but every time they broke up, suddenly she did. He’s not going to play this game anymore.

“Nothing important,” he says, sliding his phone — locked, like every normal person does — back into his pocket.

“Okay,” Alexis shrugs and stands up. “Want to keep going?”

Patrick stands as well, but hesitates. “Rose Apothecary is a really great idea, you know,” he says, and Alexis smiles. 

“I know. I think it could have been amazing for him. Ready to go?” 

Patrick nods and lets her set the pace again.

* * *

A couple of hours later David’s sitting in front of him, once again gesticulating wildly as he tries to explain his business idea. Patrick is watching him, trying to focus on the words, but his brain won’t stop spinning. An idea is taking root that he thinks just might work, and he’s trying to figure out the mechanics of it. He realises a few seconds too late that David has stopped talking and is just staring at him, frustrated.

“Okay, I’m getting the sense that you’re not really listening to me.”

Patrick shakes his head. “No, the opposite. You have a really good idea here, David.”

“Oh,” David says, looking a little taken aback. “Well, thank you.”

“But I think you need more startup capital.”

David blinks. “Oh. Okay, sure. And… how would I get that?”

Patrick smiles. “I could help. There are grants you can apply for, as a small business supporting other local small businesses. I could apply for those on behalf of the store if you would let me.”

“Um.” David seems lost for words. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is that if you get the grants, you’ll be able to start paying me.”

“Wait,” David says, shaking his head. “You want to go into business with me?”

“I do. I think you have a really good idea here, David. It could be amazing. You just need a little help.”

A very small smile appears on David’s face. “Wow. Um, okay, well… yes. I accept your… investment offer. But you know if the grants don’t come through I probably can’t pay you, right?”

Patrick can feel his smile turning into a smirk. “Oh I’m going to get the money, David,” he says, and David’s mouth drops open slightly.

“Right,” he replies faintly. “Well… okay then. I… guess I’ll talk to you soon?” he says, standing up, and Patrick stands too.

“Absolutely,” he promises, reaching out to shake David’s hand.

As soon as David’s gone, Patrick pulls out his legal pad. He needs to figure out a few things.

* * *

The next day, David doesn’t show up for his appointment.

Patrick glances at the clock approximately every 30 seconds between 9:30 and 9:40. He’s tense and anxious, and Ray keeps glancing over at his desk with a worried frown on his face.

“Has this ever happened before?” he finally asks, and Ray shakes his head.

“He’s always here at 9:30, Patrick.”

9:42. Patrick makes a decision, pulling his phone out and calls Alexis. She answers on the third ring, sounding flustered.

“Alexis, hi, it’s Patrick Brewer. I’m sorry to bother you, but David hasn’t—”

“Oh my God, Patrick, I am  _ so _ sorry,” she says quickly. “I wanted to call you, but I didn’t have your number. I hoped you’d call me. I’ve just had a very busy morning.”

Patrick feels his chest constrict. “Is everything okay?” 

“Hang on a second,” she says, and there’s the sound of a door opening and closing. When she starts speaking again, her voice is hushed. “David’s ex is in town, and David slept with him last night.”

Something white-hot and unrecognisable flushes through Patrick’s body.

“And, well, he didn’t tell anyone he was going to see him — he snuck out after I was asleep. And he ended up falling asleep there.”

“Oh,” Patrick manages, and then “Oh  _ shit,” _ as the full implications of what Alexis just said hit him.

“Mm-hmm, yep. David woke up this morning in the arms of a guy he dated years ago, a guy who used to give him a bunch of drugs and then— well. It doesn’t matter, but the point is, David is losing his mind because he can’t remember sleeping with him or even seeing him yesterday, but has woken up in bed with him. So now we’re trying to figure out if we tell him and risk dealing with  _ that _ drama, or just ride out the day.”

“Jesus,” Patrick says after a moment. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Why?” Alexis asks, sounding puzzled.

“I… don’t know, really,” Patrick answers honestly. “I just thought maybe I could help.”

“But he doesn’t know you, Patrick,” she says cautiously.

Patrick lets out a breath. “Right, you’re right, of course. Sorry. I should let you go.” He hangs up before she can say anything else.

He wants to make a plan. He needs to write it all down, figure out how it could possibly work before he talks to Alexis about it. He pulls a writing pad and pen out of his bag and begins to write.

* * *

That night, it takes two beers to muster up the courage to text Alexis.

_ If I get Ray to take David’s appointment tomorrow, can we get brunch? Want to run a few things past you. _

It’s almost an hour before she texts back and Patrick twists himself into knots while he waits. He doesn’t know what they decided to do in the end; tell David and risk the explosion, or keep him in the dark and let him freak out about not remembering what he did the day before. He lets Ray’s voice wash over him, thankfully not expected to contribute much to the conversation. He stares at his phone, willing it to light up, but somehow it still makes him jump when it finally buzzes.

_ OK! 9.30?  _ ✨💖🥞

Patrick doesn’t know her that well, but he hopes all the emojis are a good sign.

* * *

Patrick heads over to the café early the next day, partly to make sure he isn’t home when David arrives — he’s not sure he would end up leaving otherwise — and partly just due to nerves. Alexis isn’t there when he arrives so he sits down at a booth, drumming his fingers nervously on top of the folder he’d brought along with him. She finally breezes into the café five minutes late, and it’s only when she slides in opposite him and blinks strangely that he realizes he’s sitting where David does for breakfast every morning. 

Twyla takes their orders and Patrick waits until she leaves to ask quietly, “How did things go yesterday, in the end?”

Alexis sighs, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple. “We didn’t have to tell him anything, so that made life a bit easier. Stevie told him they got drunk together the night before and that must be why he didn’t remember going to see his ex. He was still pretty upset, but didn’t have any reason not to believe her, and it helped that she took him into the love room and they just got stoned for the rest of the evening.”

Patrick tilts his head to one side. “The love room?”

“It’s this skeevy room at the motel. Red satin sheets, mirror on the ceiling, disco ball, the whole gross nine yards. It doesn’t get booked out much.”

Patrick wrinkles his nose. “I bet.”

“Anyway, everything’s fine today, so no harm.” Twyla’s back then with their food, and Patrick takes a bite of his waffles. They’re… moderately edible at best. He picks up the maple syrup from the condiments tray and douses his plate liberally before tucking back in.

“So, Patrick,” Alexis finally says after a couple of minutes of eating in silence. “What did you want to talk about? You’ve got me all curious.”

Patrick puts his knife and fork down carefully and clears his throat. “Okay, I don’t… I’ve been rehearsing this all morning and I have no idea how to say it, so I’m just going to say it. Rose Apothecary is an amazing idea.”

Alexis wrinkles her brow. “I know it is.”

“Right,” Patrick flushes, because it isn’t like David’s sister needs that explained to her. “But I think it could be really special, and I want to help him run it.”

Alexis is really frowning now. “You want to steal David’s idea?”

“NO!” Patrick almost shouts, horrified. He takes a breath before starting again. “No. I don’t want to steal his idea. I want to… help him bring it to fruition. Honestly, Alexis, I think even with David’s… condition—”

“Goldfield’s Syndrome,” she supplies.

“Right, thank you, I couldn’t remember the name. Even if David didn’t have Goldfield’s, if he remembered me from day to day, I’m pretty sure I’d still want to help him with this. I’m a business major, I’m a numbers guy. I could make it happen. I’ve been working it all out—” and he points to the manila folder beside him, filled with business plans and modelling and grants that could be relevant.

Alexis sighs, reaching across the table. She makes grabbing motions with her fingers until Patrick takes the hint and stretches his hands out for her to grasp.

“Patrick, you are very, very sweet,” she says, her fingers tightening around his for emphasis. “But what you’re talking about is impossible. You can set up the business side of the store, okay. But David thinks he hasn’t started yet. This town is tiny. He’ll walk past the store, see it taking shape, and freak out. Plus, he’s going to have very specific visions for the store; visions you won’t be able to get out of him in one day. How could this possibly work?”

Patrick takes a deep breath and unclasps their hands. “You’re not going to like this… I think you should be honest with David.”

Alexis sits back, folding her arms. “You’re right, I don’t like it. I  _ told _ you why we don’t tell him.”

“I know, Alexis. I know you did. And your intentions were really good. But…”

She fixes him with a steely gaze. “Go on,” she says, and her voice is tight, but at least she’s listening.

“Okay. You told me that the news really upset him. I’m not doubting that at all. But it kind of seems like he was set up to fail.”

“How do you mean?” If her voice was tight before, it’s downright icy now. Patrick forges ahead before he loses his nerve. 

“Well… okay. Those first months. He wakes up in a hospital bed, no idea where he is or how he got there, so he’s already disoriented before he gets all this life-changing information dropped on him, and it’s doctors telling him, so I’m guessing there’s a lot of medical jargon. When he goes to the neurologist, you tell him when he’s already in the hospital and feeling unsettled because I’m guessing everyone’s acting a bit cagey, right? And the other time, after he got home, you said he… found out… in the middle of a fight. So again, already in an awful mood, then trying to absorb this news that, frankly, sounds pretty crazy.”

Alexis nods slowly. Her arms are still crossed, but she’s looking slightly — slightly — less murderous. “So…”

“So tell him in a situation when he  _ isn’t _ already horribly stressed out. Calmly. Let him get his head around it, answer his questions. You could even build up, like, a dossier or something over time, if he’s always asking the same questions. The prognosis from the doctor, an overview of what’s happened since November, that kind of thing.”

“And if we do that…”

“If we do that, we could tell him about the store. Where it’s at. And we could… help him bring it to life.”

Alexis tilts her head. “I’m going to be honest, Patrick, I don’t understand. Why is this so important to you?”

And isn’t that the million-dollar question? “Truthfully? I have absolutely no idea. I just can’t stop thinking about David— David’s business. Every day he comes in with this vague notion of what it could be, and I can see it in my head. And… and I know I don’t know him that well, and I know technically he doesn’t know me at all, but I just can’t shake this feeling that we’d make a really good team.”

Alexis stares at him for a very long time, and Patrick holds her gaze. Once or twice she opens her mouth as if to say something but seems to think better of it. Finally, she sighs.

“Okay.”

Hope blooms in Patrick’s chest. “Okay?”

“I’ll think about it. That’s all I’m willing to promise right now, but I promise I will  _ really _ think about it, okay? I want to talk to my parents and Stevie. See what they think.”

Patrick nods. “That seems perfectly reasonable.”

“All right,” Alexis says. “Well, I’m going to go, so… thanks for this, Patrick. Really. Whatever happens, I really think you mean well. I’ll call you soon.”

“Actually,” Patrick says hesitantly, “there was one more thing.”

Alexis waves her hand. “Go on.”

“I could… really use a running buddy?”

She starts a little. “What?”

“I haven’t lived here long, and it was nice running with someone the other day. If you’re interested.”

“Hmmm,” Alexis narrows her eyes. “Is this just you trying to get into my good graces?”

“Well… it’s not just that,” Patrick grins at her. She smiles back, though it looks like she does so reluctantly.

“Fine. If you can keep up, you can run with me. I’m still not making any promises about David, though.”

Patrick spreads his hands. “That’s fair.”

* * *

He starts running with Alexis every day. The first couple of days they barely speak, and nothing about David. Little by little, though, Alexis thaws on the subject, and while she doesn’t address the issue at hand she does start telling Patrick stories. Mostly they’re stories about David rescuing her from various escapades and while he isn’t entirely sure he believes all of them, they’re certainly entertaining.

He doesn’t say anything more to David about business plans at their daily meetings, sticking to the incorporation paperwork. He knows, logically, that it wouldn’t matter if he did, but frankly it would get his own hopes up, and he doesn’t want to do that until the Roses come to a decision. He and David do wind up getting lunch together a few more times, though.

He gets two more texts from Rachel, and deletes them both.

It’s been well over a week since Patrick’s brunch with Alexis at the diner and they’ve settled into a routine. Today they’ve been running for about fifteen minutes in companionable silence when Alexis says quietly, “So, my dad and Stevie agree with you.”

Patrick skids to a stop. “They do?”

“Mm-hmm, yep. Stevie, in particular, was  _ very _ vocal. She’s been thinking it for a while, apparently, but didn’t want to butt in.”

Patrick flushes. “That wasn’t what I was trying to do.”

“Yes it was,” she says sardonically, and Patrick can’t argue because yes, it was. 

“Wait, you said your dad and Stevie. What about your mom?”

Alexis sighs, closing her eyes for a minute. “My mom is… my mom. You’ll understand when you meet her. But if you want to talk about this, we have to keep running.”

Patrick rolls his eyes but complies. “So what’s your mom’s objection?”

“Why, so you can talk her out of them?” She sounds dry, but when Patrick glances over at her she’s quirking her lip. “She just… mom and David are a lot alike. Dramatic. Like, I love them, but they’re a lot. So I think mom’s projecting onto David a bit, but she is trying to protect him. She thinks he’s delicate.” 

“David isn’t delicate,” Patrick says. The depth of feeling in his voice surprises even himself.

“I know that,” she says. “I  _ know, _ Patrick. I’m saying mom thinks he is. But dad’s going to talk to her. He knows how to handle her, and he likes your plan. He feels guilty about missing out on so much of our childhoods, and he’s hated lying to David more than any of us.” 

“Wow, okay,” Patrick says. “So… what’s the plan now? If your mom gets on board, I mean.”

“Well,” Alexis replies, “we’re going to call his neurologist, first of all, find out what she thinks. Assuming we get her signoff, we’ll make a plan, figure out the best way to tell him so that he can digest properly and not flip out.”

“How long, do you think?”

Alexis shrugs. “A week, maybe?”

“Good, good,” Patrick says. “I’m looking forward to being able to be honest with him.”

This time it’s Alexis who stops running, looking at him for a long minute. “Patrick…” she starts, then trails off.

He thinks she’ll keep going but she doesn’t. She glances away, so after a few seconds, he prompts, “Yeah?”

“Never mind,” she sighs. “It’s not my place to ask.”

Patrick wants to ask what she meant, but something stops him. After a moment she shrugs and starts running again, and all Patrick can do is follow.

* * *

The days pass much slower than Patrick would have liked. He teases David’s visions for the store out of him day by day and builds up a proper business plan in the evenings. And… it’s odd. David definitely doesn’t remember Patrick, but the more time they spend together the more it’s like David is actually getting to know him — he thaws out all the time, and they banter far more than they did when they first met. Patrick has to constantly remind himself that for David it’s the first day, and avoid referencing earlier conversations.

Every day that week, he and David wind up grabbing lunch after their appointment. Patrick stopped scheduling appointments between David and lunchtime after the first time they had lunch, just on the off chance they would do it again, and it has well and truly paid off this week.

Friday finds them in their usual booth just before noon, joking about the fine cuisine of Café Tropical, when a short dark-haired girl slides into the seat next to David without a word. David just smiles at her, unconcerned, so Patrick holds out his hand across the table.

“Patrick Brewer,” he says.

“Stevie Budd,” she replies, and she takes his hand, but she’s eyeing him suspiciously.

Patrick smiles to himself. He was starting to wonder when he’d meet Stevie, and he’s unsurprised from what Alexis had mentioned that she came to find him sooner rather than later.

“Well, you’re welcome to join us, Stevie,” he says. “We were just discussing what wine pairings would work with the mozzarella sticks here. Thoughts?”

Stevie smiles across the table at him, but there’s a flash of… something… behind her eyes. “Gee, I’m not sure,” she says. “Would you say you’re more of a red wine or a white wine person?”

“Oh, definitely red,” Patrick replies. “I’ve gone off white lately— David, are you okay?” 

David’s trying to make a dignified recovery from choking on his water. “Yep, fine,” he wheezes as he and Stevie have a conversation with smirks and raised eyebrows that Patrick can’t even begin to decipher.

“Oh, I knew I was looking forward to meeting the infamous Patrick,” Stevie says, and David’s head whips around to look at her.

“Why would you say he’s  _ infamous?” _ David demands, his voice climbing half an octave, and Stevie’s eyes widen a little as she clearly searches for an answer.

“I go running with Alexis,” Patrick says quickly, and David wrinkles his nose.

“Ew, please tell me that’s not a euphemism.”

_ “God  _ no,” Patrick blurts out, then wonders if perhaps that was a little rude to David’s sister. David doesn’t seem to mind, though; in fact, his face relaxes a little. Stevie’s mouth twitches.

Patrick soon discovers, to his delight, that Stevie pokes and teases David in the same way he does. It’s not long before Patrick is laughing at a whole bunch of stories about David from when he first came to Schitt’s Creek, which Stevie tells with aplomb.

“Love  _ this _ social dynamic,” David mutters, but he’s doing that thing Patrick recognises as him trying very hard not to smile, so he doesn’t feel too bad.

They linger over lunch but it’s actually David who winds up leaving first. His gaze flits between Patrick and Stevie nervously as he hovers by the table, but eventually he does leave the two of them there, looking back over his shoulder as he walks out of the café. Once he’s out the door, Patrick stops looking at him and turns back to Stevie.

“So nice to finally meet you,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Alexis.”

Stevie’s looking at him curiously. “Mm, I’m glad I came today,” she says. “I couldn’t figure out what your deal was, why you were so keen to help David with the business, but  _ now _ I get it.”

Patrick’s confused. “Get what?”

Stevie smirks, and it looks a little dangerous. “It’s just… you look  _ flustered,” _ she says. “I like it for you, and I like it for David.” She stands, leaving some cash on the table. “See you soon, Patrick.”

“What do you mean, ‘flustered’?” Patrick demands, but she just gives him a sarcastic little wave as she leaves.

“Why would I be  _ flustered?” _ he repeats to the empty table. 

But somewhere, at a very hidden back part of his brain, a fog is starting to clear.

* * *

He goes home to change and heads up to Rattlesnake Point. It’s fast becoming the place to go when he needs to clear his head; he’s never seen anyone else up there, and he feels like he can breathe freely when he’s on the ridge. And he needs to breathe freely just now, because a whole lot of puzzle pieces are slotting together in his head all of a sudden. 

Like the piece where the first time they ran together, he desperately wanted to ask Alexis if David ever mentioned him. Like the piece where he looks forward to his appointment with David so much, he even takes it on weekends. Like the piece where no person has ever been on his mind as much as David is.

Like the piece where what he sees in his head every night before he falls asleep is David Rose. 

_ Okay, Brewer. Think about this logically. _

He suddenly remembers that feeling that coursed through him when he found out David had slept with his ex. He hadn’t realised it at the time, too distracted by the implications of that for David, but the more he thinks about it the surer he is that it had been incandescent  _ jealousy _ . 

Patrick has never been a jealous person. Whenever he and Rachel got back together they would be scrupulously honest about whether they’d been with anyone else; they both had, a few times, and Patrick had never been particularly phased at the thought of Rachel with someone else when they weren’t together. But the thought of someone else putting their hands on David makes Patrick feel physically ill.

David is always on his mind. Spending time with David is the best part of his day. Patrick makes excuses to extend their time together. 

He thinks that maybe this is what it’s  _ supposed _ to feel like — all the romcoms and crappy Harlequin novels and love songs that Patrick always thought were an exaggeration. He just assumed that in real life people didn’t experience all-consuming crushes, didn’t fall asleep thinking about people night after night, didn’t figure out what to say to put a smile on someone’s face. And yet he does all of that when it comes to David.

Huh.

* * *

Patrick has always been a take-charge guy. Especially in a crisis.

He took charge on his Boy Scout trip when the scout leader stepped in a bear trap. He took charge when his dad fell off a ladder and had to be taken to hospital. He took charge when Henry got alcohol poisoning at a party freshman year.

He can take charge of a… sexuality crisis?

He stumbled down the hill and back home in a daze, had a shower so hot it’s almost unbearable, and is now sitting on his bed in a towel feeling a little ridiculous. He’s nearly 30 years old. He’d know, right, if he was gay? He’s had sex with a handful of girls as well as Rachel, and it’s never been  _ bad _ — awkward occasionally, but never bad. And if he isn’t constantly gagging for sex like some of the guys he knows, he pretty much always gets hard after a decent amount of foreplay, and almost always comes at the end.

He could be bisexual, he supposes. That’s a thing. 

Before he can think about it too hard, he opens his laptop and searches for “bisexual porn”. He checks that the door is shut and that his volume is turned way, way down — it’s Friday afternoon, Ray should be out, but you can never be too careful — then clicks on the first video that pops up.

It’s… fine. He watches the two men in the scene and doesn’t feel a whole lot. He watches the woman, and still nothing. Then again, apart from stolen skin mags as a teenager that were interesting more for the illicitness of them than the content, Patrick has never really been particularly into porn. After about five minutes, he slams the laptop closed in frustration. 

That was zero help.

He thinks about David at lunch earlier that day, licking sauce off his fingers after eating the buffalo wings, and — oh. He’s suddenly mostly hard and almost without thinking, reaches under his towel. He gives himself a couple of experimental strokes and okay, yep, that’s doing it.

Masturbation has always been a bit… perfunctory, for Patrick. He went through a stage of jerking off a lot as a teenager, as most people did, but as an adult it’s mostly been for stress relief or falling asleep, or a couple of very awkward attempts at phone sex. Patrick has never seen the appeal.

This is totally different. He’s so hard he can actually feel himself throbbing, and is leaking precome. Before he knows it he’s jerking off in earnest, thinking about David somehow both rolling his eyes and smiling fondly while Patrick makes yet another sports analogy. The way his face lights up when Patrick gives him a genuine compliment. The way he looks at Patrick at lunch sometimes, like he’s trying to decide whether to— 

_ “Fuck,”  _ Patrick hisses, and then he’s coming all over his hand.

Well. Okay then.

As he cleans up, guilt starts to creep in. He’s just masturbated over someone who not only might become his business partner but who thinks they only met this morning. Is that creepy? It’s seriously messing with Patrick’s head.

On the other hand, it does seem like that whole sexuality question is well and truly answered.

“I think I’m gay,” he whispers, even though there’s no one around to hear him, and then amends: “I’m gay.”

It should be a life-changing realisation and in some ways it is, but it makes him feel settled in a way he can’t remember ever feeling. It’s like… like he’s been sitting on a wobbly chair leg for so long he didn’t realise he was constantly rebalancing himself until someone fixed it.

Patrick’s phone buzzes, startling him. He glances down at it, bracing himself for a text from Rachel, but it’s Alexis’ name on the screen.

_ Green light from the neurologist. Telling him tomorrow. _


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning goes interminably slowly. Alexis keeps him updated via text, which he appreciates — David is apparently coping better than expected, with no panic attacks or drug binges in sight. 

It’s mid-afternoon before he gets the message he’s been waiting for.  _ He wants to talk to you about the store. _

Fingers shaking, he responds as fast as he can type.  _ I can be at the store in an hour. _

He makes it with fifteen minutes to spare and then has to stand awkwardly on the stoop waiting for David. He’s expecting Stevie or Alexis to come with him, so he’s surprised when David rounds the corner on his own, clutching the store key in his hand. He approaches Patrick warily and Patrick holds a hand out, smiling.

“David, hi, I’m Patrick Brewer,” he says, and David eyes his hand nervously for a second before reaching out to take it.

“How many times have you had to introduce yourself to me?” he asks. The tone is so acerbic that Patrick barks out a laugh before he can stop himself.

“Dozens,” he says honestly, before adding, “but you usually end up liking me.” The corner of David’s lip pulls up a little in the corner as though he’s fighting a smile as he unlocks the door and gestures to Patrick to go inside before following him in. It’s the first time Patrick’s actually been inside the store, despite walking past it almost every day, and he takes a good look around. 

It’s a great space. Lots of natural light, good storage options, what appears to be a bathroom in the back. Right now it’s bare and a little bit depressing, but he thinks David could make it beautiful.

When he turns around, David has his arms folded and his shoulders hunched up. He always has so much presence but right now he looks like he’s shrinking in on himself, and Patrick aches to give him a hug. He has a strong suspicion that wouldn’t be well-received, though, so he stays where he is and waits for David to say something.

“Stevie said telling me about what my — about what happened to me was your idea,” he says finally and Patrick blinks, because that’s not really what he was expecting. “Why?”

“Do you wish they hadn’t?” Patrick asks instead of answering. David’s normally expressive face is shuttered, and he has no idea what David is thinking. 

David’s fingers flex on his sleeves, pressing in and out. “It’s a lot,” he says after a long pause. “Every conversation I’ve had since they told me, I’m like, ‘how many times have they said this to me already?’”

Patrick nods. “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

“It’s just… it’s not the first time I’ve had missing chunks of time I’ve had to be filled in on later, but… it’s been a night or two thanks to drinking or drugs, not  _ months _ and through no fault of my own. And I don’t — I don’t like having to be told about my life by other people. It makes me feel…”

“Out of control,” Patrick finishes for him, and David nods tightly. 

Patrick vows to revisit that later. He wants David to feel comfortable, and he might have a few ideas.

For now, though, he wants to convince David they can make Rose Apothecary happen. He pulls out the bulging manila folder he’s been putting together since a few days after meeting David and starts taking him through it. Not just the budgets and the grants but everything David’s talked to him about in their many incorporation meetings and lunches — the vision and the consignment model and the lists of potential vendors and even the colour scheme. When he finishes, his throat is dry and David is staring at him.

“What?” he asks, a little defensive. David holds up his hands.

“Nothing. I just… didn’t expect all this from a guy in mid-range, straight-leg denim.”

Patrick snorts. “Don’t worry, David, anything remotely creative came from you. I just put it all into a business plan.”

“Oh, so I can still have creative control, then?” David asks archly. Patrick closes the folder and looks straight at David.

“David,” he says softly, “this is your store. I think it’s a brilliant concept, and I want to help you make it happen, if you’ll let me. But it’s your vision and your ideas.”

David looks at him for a long time, and Patrick forces himself not to blush under the scrutiny.

“Okay,” David says finally.

Patrick raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Alexis and Stevie have both vouched for you. So… okay. If you can get the grants you talked about, you can be my business partner.”

“Oh, I’m going to get the money,” Patrick says, a sense of déjà vu washing over him. He said this once before, early on, and got the same reaction out of David then as now — a dropped jaw and a soft “Okay, then.”

They leave the store together, and David hesitates. “I’ll get Alexis to make you a copy of the store key,” he says. “So you don’t have to wait for me in the mornings. It was, um, a lot to take in, this morning. That’s unlikely to get any easier.”

Patrick nods. “Sounds good,” he says, holding out his hand to David once again. This time there’s no hesitation before David shakes it firmly.

“I’ll— um,” David flushes. “You’ll see me tomorrow, is more accurate, I guess, so.”

Patrick smiles warmly. “See you tomorrow, David.”

As soon as David is out of sight, Patrick takes off at a fast walk towards his car. He’s had an idea, and he needs to get to Elmdale before the stores close.

* * *

The next day, it’s just after lunch when Alexis texts to say David wants to see him.  _ We’re getting better at delivering the news, _ she adds, and Patrick laughs out loud when he reads it. He wonders if there’ll ever be a point where David will be able to be there when the store opens — probably not, but that’s okay. Luckily, Patrick is a morning person.

The conversation with David is eerily similar to the previous day, but Patrick wants it to happen that way, this time. He waits until David talks about being told about his life by other people before he grins, pulling out a gift bag from the duffel he brought with him and holding it out to David.

“Um, what is this?” David asks, reaching hesitantly for the bag.

“We, uh, we had this conversation yesterday,” Patrick says, “and I wanted to help.”

David gives him an inscrutable glance before reaching into the bag. He pulls out the leatherbound journal and an instant camera and looks at them for a long moment, blinking furiously. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, but doesn’t say anything.

“I just thought,” Patrick offers into the silence, “that you shouldn’t have to rely on other people telling you about your life.”

David clears his throat. “This is the first gift I haven’t bought myself in a very long time,” he says thickly.

Patrick shrugs awkwardly. “It’s nothing.”

David looks up at him then, his eyes blazing. “Um, this is not nothing. Thank you, Patrick.”

Patrick feels a warm flush run through him. “You’re welcome,” he says softly, not looking away.

David breaks the stare first, looking down again, then he unboxes the camera and waves it at Patrick. “Pretty sure I should take a photo of the guy who’s apparently my business partner, right?” He says, and Patrick smiles widely, jamming his hands into his pockets as David snaps a picture.

“Yesterday I had to spend quite a while going through the business plan before you agreed to take me on,” he says while the photo prints out.

“Alexis took great pains to inform me this morning that I already agreed to you joining me, when she gave me a copy of the store key for you. But you’re definitely going to have to go through it all again so I can add it to this lovely journal. Very solid aesthetic choice there, by the way.”

Patrick grins. “I’m learning.”

* * *

Slowly, so slowly, Rose Apothecary begins to form. And Patrick learns something he didn’t have the opportunity to learn before: David is incredibly tactile.

Not a hugger, though, Patrick doesn’t think. At least, he’s never seen David hug any of his family or Stevie, who are basically the only people he’s ever seen David interact with. But little, unconscious touches, absolutely; David will place a hand on Patrick’s back to get his attention, won’t stop their hands from brushing when one of them passes the other a hot drink, will rub a moisturiser or body lotion tester into Patrick’s hand without a word. And every single time, it’s tiny lightning bolts under Patrick’s skin.

It’s just a crush, Patrick tells himself, that makes him tease and snark and joke until David is flustered and bantering back.

It’s just a crush, the way his heart pounds every time David brushes up against him as they stock shelves.

It’s just a crush, and it will go away.

Except it doesn’t. It gets stronger.

It’s been over a week of them steadily working at setting up the store, accepting stock and applying labels and arranging and rearranging the displays. David changes his mind enough within the course of a single day, let alone from day to day when he can’t remember why he ended up landing on a particular layout. It should be frustrating instead of endearing, Patrick thinks, but that’s just how far gone he is.

They’re working well into the evening most days, and tonight is no exception. After a break on the floor for some genuinely unidentifiable café food for dinner, they decide to keep going; David doesn’t say it, but Patrick’s pretty sure the late nights are about putting off going to sleep, when David knows he’ll forget.

The problem is, David is  _ distracting. _ Patrick spends more time looking at him than he should at the best of times, but that night every time he looks at David, David is looking back, causing Patrick to find somewhere, anywhere else to put his gaze. After the seventh or eighth time this happens David puts down the body milk he’s holding and takes a deep breath.

“Patrick,” he asks carefully. “If I promise not to write anything down from the rest of our conversation without your express permission, will you promise to answer something honestly?”

Patrick blinks. “I’ll always be honest with you, whether you’re recording the conversation or not,” he says. “But if it puts your mind at ease, yes, of course.”

“Are we really  _ just _ business partners?”

All the air leaves Patrick’s body at once. “Why— why would you ask that?” He croaks.

“I just thought— sometimes you look at me like—” David’s mouth twists. “Never mind. Guess I was wrong. It’s probably just pity, or—”

Patrick takes three steps across the room and is holding David by the arms almost before he realizes it. “It’s not pity. I don’t  _ pity _ you.” He searches David’s eyes. “Do you believe me?”

David nods, just once, very slowly.

“Good,” Patrick says as he drops his hands and starts to turn away. 

“So then what is it, if not pity?”

Patrick sighs. He should have known David wouldn’t drop it. “David, I am very aware that to you, I’m someone you met this morning. We don’t have to talk about this. It’s fine.”

“Got it,” David says quietly, and before Patrick can ask what he thinks he’s  _ got _ David is leaning in, cupping a hand around his neck. Patrick can feel the coolness of his rings contrasting with the heat of his fingers against his skin and then he can’t feel anything at all except the press of David’s lips against his because David  _ is kissing him. _ They’re kissing, and it’s every young adult novel, every poem, every single stupid cliché come to life — Patrick is seeing fireworks and stars and he’s floating and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry because he’s been kissing people for fifteen years; how could he not have known it could feel like this? 

When David breaks the kiss, God, they just  _ stare _ at each other for a moment. David’s smiling softly and Patrick is sure he had a stupid grin stretching his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Thank you,” Patrick says after a moment, breaking the silence, and David blinks.

“For what?”

“I’ve never kissed someone the day I met them, and I know that’s what this is, essentially, for you, and I was scared to — well. Just, thank you for… for making that happen for us.”

David’s soft smile turns into something different — a little sharper, a little more self-deprecating. “Well luckily for you, I’ve kissed literally hundreds of people the day I met them, so.” And before Patrick can parse that too closely David is leaning back in to kiss him again but this time, Patrick feels David’s tongue against his lips and he opens his mouth; David is a really good kisser and Patrick is just along for the ride as their tongues slide together. There’s an electric current under his skin that heats up as David presses closer, sliding his arms around Patrick’s waist and moaning just a little when Patrick brings his hands to David’s chest. The sound shoots straight through Patrick’s stomach and lower and he realises with a shock that he’s achingly hard, pressing uncomfortably against his jeans, just from a minute of kissing David. He’s never felt like this, turned on and lightheaded and giddy, and it’s so easy to just lose himself in the sensation.

It’s not until he feels David’s hands slipping under his shirt — and when did it even get untucked? — that Patrick has the presence of mind to break the kiss. He takes a second to catch his breath but doesn’t move away, instead sliding his hands from David’s chest up to his shoulders.

“Sorry, I just— I just need a minute,” he pants. “This is all… a bit new to me.”

David blinks. “Kissing is new to you?”

“I’ve never been with a guy,” Patrick admits in a rush. He can feel himself blushing and feels ridiculous; he shouldn’t be this embarrassed about it, and yet.

“Oh,” David whispers, his eyes flicking back down to Patrick’s lips for a moment and back up. “Been with, or, um,  _ been _ with?”

“You’re the first guy I’ve kissed, let alone… anything else,” Patrick clarifies. “So, I know this all feels really fast for you, but I probably need to take it just a little slower. I hope that’s okay.”

David’s smiling again, and he makes a small sound in the back of his throat. “That’s fine,” he says. “I mean, we are in a store with floor to ceiling glass windows, so… probably needed to put that on hold in any case.”

Patrick laughs in agreement. “Yeah, not so keen on giving a floor show, I don’t think.”

“Shame,” David says lightly, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s temple before he drops his arms to his sides. “I should really go before we get carried away. I do need to check one thing with you first, though.”

Patrick’s a little distracted by the thought of  _ getting carried away _ with David, so it takes him a few seconds to respond. “Sure, what do you need?”

“Well, I did say at the start of this conversation that I wouldn’t write any of this down unless I had permission,” David says. “So I thought I’d better check whether you actually wanted me to know about this tomorrow?” The words are teasing, but Patrick thinks there’s a genuine uncertainty lurking behind the joking tone.

“You’d better write this down,” Patrick responds, and he had been going for playful but he’s still flustered and half-hard and it comes out in a growl instead. David doesn’t seem to mind, though, if the way his jaw drops slightly while he stares at Patrick’s lips is any indication.

“That tone,” David says roughly as he backs away, grabbing his things, “is definitely not compatible with  _ going slow. _ So… I’m going to leave now, and you’ll see me in the morning?”

Patrick nods. “I will definitely see you in the morning,” he says softly. “Goodnight, David.” 

* * *

Patrick wakes up just after five and can’t drop off again despite not falling asleep until after midnight, his head full of David. He jerked off twice last night after getting home from the store, first in the shower and then again in bed, and by 6 am he’s seriously considering round three. This is  _ ridiculous. _ He’s a grown adult, he should be able to keep his hands off his dick after a few kisses.

A few kisses that blew every other kiss he’s ever had in his life out of the water.

A few kisses with David’s strong arms around him, his stubble scraping Patrick’s jaw, long dexterous fingers making their way under Patrick’s shirt to caress the skin on his lower back— 

“Goddammit,” Patrick hisses, sloppily licking a stripe along his palm before pushing his hand roughly into his boxers. He jerks himself fast and rough, thoughts of what else David’s clever fingers and tongue could do to him consuming him until he shoves the heel of his free hand into his mouth to muffle the sounds as he comes all over his fist and his underwear.

He sucks in a breath as he releases his hand from his mouth; his teeth have left a serious indentation in his palm and the feeling he gets when he looks at the bite is… well… it’s something to explore later, that’s for sure. Right now, though, he feels sticky and sweaty and a little out of control, and he wants to get into the shower before Ray wakes up.

He grabs a fresh pair of underwear and some jeans and makes a break for the shower. He turns the water as hot as he can stand it and steps under the spray, resolutely not thinking about David as he washes. He shaves before getting dressed and once he’s done, winds up standing in front of his closet trying to pick a shirt. He eventually picks out one that’s quite a deep blue, one Rachel always said he looked good in, and fumbles the buttons twice trying to do it up.

Patrick is nervous.

He is not, generally speaking, someone who gets nervous. But ‘generally’ doesn’t really cover ‘had the hottest makeout session of my life with my business partner who now won’t remember ever meeting me and then jerked off over it three times in eight hours’, so Patrick thinks his nervousness is pretty warranted, overall.

It’s still ridiculously early, so he decides to go to the café for breakfast. He slips into a free booth and waits for Twyla to come over and take his order. He has butterflies in his stomach but decides to get the eggs benedict, and Twyla grins at him.

“David’s really rubbing off on you, huh Patrick?” she says as she leaves, and Patrick laughs and tries very hard not to blush. She probably doesn’t mean it the way Patrick’s interpreting it, but… the store is very open, and he can’t be totally sure no one saw them last night. He prays David meant it when he said he was going to write it all down.

“Oh, is that Patrick?” comes a voice from the next booth, and then a man appears beside the table. Even if Patrick didn’t recognise him from his long-ago video employment training videos, he’d know that this was Johnny Rose — it’s David to a tee, just older and wearing a suit instead of a designer sweater. Patrick slides out of his seat and reaches out to shake his hand.

“Hi, Mr Rose, I’m Patrick Brewer,” he says, his mom’s manners kicking in. “Would you like to sit?”

“Well, sure, thank you Patrick,” he says as he slips into the booth. Patrick wasn’t expecting him to actually accept, and he gapes for a second before recovering and sitting back down. Before he can say anything else a woman materialises as if from nowhere — though how anyone could miss her in the dress she’s wearing, Patrick can’t imagine — and seats herself next to Johnny.

“This is my wife, Moira,” Johnny says. “Moira, this is Patrick — David’s business partner.”

“Ah, how lovely!” Moira exclaims. “I’ve been so looking forward to meeting the young man supporting my firstborn’s entrepreneurial endeavours.”

“Yes, yes, it’s good to finally meet you,” Johnny agrees. “Alexis tells us you pushed for us to start telling David about his Goldfield’s Syndrome. Quite hard, to hear her tell it.”

Patrick flushes, but doesn’t break eye contact. “That’s right, Mr Rose,” he says quietly. “I think Rose Apothecary could be amazing — that’s why I wanted to go into business with David. And I thought he deserved the opportunity to build another business, like he did with his art galleries.”

Moira flinches, though Patrick’s not sure why. “How magnanimous,” she murmurs, eyeing him across the table.

Johnny nods. “Well, I can’t deny it’s certainly easier not having to lie about the date all the time,” he says. “But Patrick, I’m sure you understand, David’s condition makes him… vulnerable.”

For one fleeting, horrifying moment, Patrick thinks he’s about to be lectured by his… by David’s father about whether David has the capacity to consent to sex, before Johnny continues speaking.

“My business partner was family to us,” he says sadly. “Eli was Alexis’ godfather, we spent holidays together. He was my best friend and I trusted him with my life, right up until the day he absconded to the Cayman Islands and left us destitute. And I didn’t have any memory issues or brain conditions to make that easier for him.”

Patrick is floored. He knew the Roses lost all their money, but didn’t ask any questions and just assumed it was a result of bad investments or the general demise of video stores. He had no idea they were betrayed so completely by someone so close to them.

“That’s awful, Mr Rose,” he says after a moment. “And I realise me saying this doesn’t carry a whole lot of weight, considering I’d probably say the same if I was out to destroy him, but I’m not here to… to betray your son, or embezzle from him. I’m here because I believe in his vision and I think he deserves to make his dream happen.”

“Hmm,” Johnny says. His face is inscrutable, and Moira reaches across the table.

“The thing is, Peter—”

“Patrick,” Patrick corrects her with a smile.

“Of course, Patrick. The thing is, our darling David has perhaps not been the best judge of character in the past.”

Patrick nods tightly. “Yeah, I’ve gotten that from some of his stories,” he says, thinking it’s the understatement of the century.

“But,” Moira continues, “Alexis is certainly quick to extol your admirable qualities, and she is certainly alarmingly protective of her brother, so perhaps it is enough to say that we look to the opening of your little store with immense anticipation.”

Patrick smiles at her as Johnny clears his throat.

“Yes, it’s certainly not our intention to insult or upset you, Patrick,” he says. “David’s going to need a solid business partner to make this work — he probably would have needed one even without his memory issues, to be perfectly honest with you. As Moira said, we certainly look forward to the store opening.”

Twyla appears with his breakfast then, and the Roses take the opportunity to slip out of the booth. Patrick makes to stand up again, but Johnny waves him down.

“No, no, you enjoy your breakfast, Patrick,” he says. “We’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

“Looking forward to it,” Patrick says, mostly meaning it. “It was lovely to meet you, Mr and Mrs Rose.”

Johnny nods, and Moira gives him a strange fluttering wave before they both leave.

Patrick thinks about what they said as he eats his eggs benedict. In particular, he thinks about the pain in Johnny’s eyes when he spoke about his business partner. He’s acutely aware of how much trust David is putting in him in this endeavour, and he’s determined to always be worthy of it.

He lingers over his breakfast until it’s close to the time David normally arrives, then orders a tea for himself and a coffee for David to go. Twyla hands them over with a smile and Patrick heads over to the store. He’s barely set them on the counter when he hears the door open behind him and when he turns around David is closing the door, eyeing Patrick carefully.

Patrick swallows hard when he sees him, pulse racing. David’s wearing a much more form-fitting sweater than normal, and his jeans are tight and… God, David’s  _ so _ attractive. He feels a slightly stunned grin spread across his face and he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about his reaction. 

“Hi,” David says, smiling cautiously as he approaches. He kisses Patrick on the cheek before backing up a little and Patrick barely refrains from hauling him in for more.

“I got you a coffee,” he says instead, gesturing to the counter. David raises an eyebrow, picking it up and taking a sip before staring hard at Patrick.

“You know my coffee order?” he asks carefully. There’s something on his face Patrick doesn’t understand.

“Of course,” he says. “It’s not hard.”

“Okay, but… it is, actually, very complicated, and… high-maintenance,” David says, looking confused.

Patrick shrugs. “I mean, once you know it, it’s easy to reel off,” he says. “Is it… is that okay?”

David looks down at the cup in his hand. “I just — I don’t think anyone’s ever bothered to memorise it, before.”

“Oh,” Patrick says softly. “Well, it’s stuck in my head now. There’s a mnemonic.” 

David looks delighted. “Is there really?”

“There isn’t, actually,” Patrick confesses. “I could make one up if you like?”

“Mm, I think making the mnemonic after you’ve remembered the thing is somewhat pointless,” David says, taking another sip of his drink before putting it carefully back on the counter. “How… how was your night?”

Patrick grins. “Good. Well, I was up at five. Couldn’t sleep, thinking about—” he blushes. “Thinking about last night.”

David smiles like he’s pleased but trying not to show it. “Yes, that was a delightful read this morning,” he says. “Regrets?”

Patrick’s jaw drops open. “What? No— no regrets,” he says. “Why would you ask that?”

David shrugs, all faux nonchalance. “I think it’s just a habit to ask.”

“Right,” Patrick says faintly. He crosses the space between them and takes David’s face in his hands and kisses him, soft and sure. When he pulls back, David looks a little dazed and his tongue slips out to lick his lower lip. The last thing Patrick needs is to be thinking about is that tongue, so he steps back regretfully.

“We’ve got quite a bit to do to get this store of yours ready,” he says. “Work first, kissing later.”

“You're very bossy,” David says, but he doesn’t look like he minds at all.

* * *

The next week passes in a flurry of store preparation and increasingly frantic makeout sessions — in the store, in the car, whenever they have either of their bedrooms to themselves. Patrick’s past the point of  _ go slow _ and his resolve to not have actual sex in the store is seriously starting to fray around the edges. The more of David he experiences, the more he wants, and the lack of privacy to actually explore that is becoming a real sticking point.

They’re in the back room, David’s mouth pressed to Patrick’s neck, half of Patrick’s buttons undone, when they hear the door open.

“Who the  _ fuck,” _ David hisses, stepping back. He turns an appraising look on Patrick. “I should go, while you… sort that out,” he says, stepping out to the front of the store before Patrick can stop him. He hurriedly does his shirt back up, willing his erection to go away — there are very few people who would come into the store knowing they’re not open yet, and Patrick doesn’t want any of them to see him in this state. By the time he feels decent enough to face anyone and goes through the curtain, he finds David and Stevie sniping at each other. 

“Hey, Stevie,” he says, determined not to blush. She’s like a shark sniffing out blood when it comes to embarrassing David, and therefore him by association.

“Hi,” she replies, clearly amused.

“David and I were just in the back doing some inventory,” he offers.

“Hmm, yeah, seems like you guys are really busy,” she snarks, before frowning at him. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“You’ve got a little red… is that a bug bite? Or a little mouth shaped sunburn? It looks like a hickey, actually.” Her voice is dripping concern but her eyes are definitely laughing at him, and it’s a second before her words actually hit him.

_ He wouldn’t. _

“But it's not, it's not a hickey, right?” he says firmly. “Because that would be disgusting, and wildly unprofessional — David, did you give me a  _ hickey?” _

“Okay, no, I didn't,” David tries. “I gave you a half hickey, because apparently we don’t have the time or the privacy for me to give you a full hickey. And I don’t know how it’s wildly unprofessional if we’re not even open yet. It’s not my fault Stevie just wandered in here like a lost orphan.”

“Desperate times, huh?” Stevie asks. To her credit, she does sound slightly sympathetic under all the mocking.

“No, trying times,” David says. “Nothing about this is desperate.” Patrick can’t help but grin at him. “It’s just that — well, we’re trying to pack a lot into a day, here.” Stevie’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “And there's a lot of people at the motel, and Patrick is renting a room from Ray—” 

“Who likes to chat,” Patrick interjects.

“So there is literally zero privacy,” David finishes.

“Hmm,” Stevie says. “Well, if you want, I'm happy to offer you guys my apartment for the night.”

Patrick stops his jaw from hitting the floor with great effort. That’s — God, that is such a tempting offer, but something occurs to him.

“That is super generous, but wouldn't be a little bit weird us having alone time at your place? Especially because you guys have…”

Both David and Stevie fall over themselves declaring that they’d never had sex at her place. “I still have to  _ live _ there,” Stevie shudders, and Patrick snorts a laugh.

“I mean, we could consider it,” he says, looking at David. But David is still squinting suspiciously at Stevie.

“What exactly is the catch?” David demands.

Stevie shrugs. “No catch.”

Patrick’s had enough. “David! We’ll take the place. Thank you, Stevie,” he says fervently, kicking the side of David’s foot until he mutters a thank you as well. She grins at them, grabbing some body milk out of the box on the counter as she leaves.

“So there's a bit of a catch,” David shouts after her, before turning to look at Patrick. “Are you going to let her steal that?”

“If she’s giving us a whole night to ourselves? She can have a dozen of them.”

David stares. “That’s very hot, coming from the numbers guy,” he says after a moment, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck and kissing him soundly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where the rating is earned. Repeatedly.

Patrick picks David up at the motel on the way to Stevie’s, and they can’t stop stealing giddy glances at each other all the way there — which Patrick is pretty sure his high school Driver’s Ed teacher would have had a few angry words about, but it can’t be helped. When they arrive Patrick tries valiantly not to make it seem like they’re kicking Stevie out of her own house, even though that’s exactly what he’s trying to make happen.

But then a tall, handsome stranger joins them and before Patrick knows what’s happening the guy is  _ kissing David on the lips, _ and Patrick suspects his brain actually stutters to a stop for a few moments before rebooting. He’s trying very hard to tamper down the ugly feeling that’s clawing up inside him, and he’s somewhat mollified by the fact that David looks incredibly uncomfortable and is sort of… petting Patrick on the shoulder?

“Who’s this guy?” the stranger asks, and Patrick can’t help bristling a little at the tone.

“This is my… that’s…” David is obviously floundering and Patrick offers his name and his hand with a smile that’s probably more of a grimace, helping him out. 

“And you are?” he asks pointedly.

“Picking up Stevie,” the guy replies. Patrick’s taken aback.

“So I'm not getting a name, then,” he says, but no one seems to be listening to him. David is quizzing them both on where they’re heading and that they’re ‘still’ dating and seriously, why is he so interested?

“After we all broke up, Stevie came over to end things officially, and it just didn't stick, so,” the guy says.

Wait.

What?

“Now, when you say ‘we all broke up’…” he tries, but David is still laser-focused on Stevie.

“Did I know about this?” David demands, his voice rising.

“If I say yes, can this conversation be over?” Stevie snaps back, and David scowls at her.

“Excuse me?”

Stevie glares. “We're gonna go, leave you two lovebirds.”

“Unless you two wanna come,” the guy adds, and Patrick is even more confused now. He is, however, glad that David’s rejection of that… offer… is both swift and sure. 

The two of them leave the room, and finally, David and Patrick are alone. Patrick, however, has a few questions.

“So we're gonna talk about this, right?” he asks after a beat.

“Yep, I'm just gonna grab that bottle of…”

“Whiskey, yeah.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, David refills their glasses for a second time. “So this is for you. Um… cheers to privacy,” he says, leaning in for a kiss, and Patrick raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry, I've just got to go through that one more time,” he says as he takes the glass from David. “So you dated Jake, and then Stevie dated Jake.” David nods. “And at one point, you all…”

“No!” David says firmly. “See, that's where you're wrong. We almost all, but I said no. Because Stevie and I agreed that that would be a bad idea, but it appears that I'm the only one that held up my end of that agreement.”

“Right,” Patrick says faintly. He likes to think he’s not sheltered, or a prude, but relationships with multiple partners are something he’s only heard about in theory, and never actually seen play out in practice. He doesn’t think he’s ever had to have an explicit conversation about monogamy before — it was just assumed — and he’s feeling a little embarrassed that he never thought to do so with David. “And you're upset about this because you still…”

“No!” David interjects. “I'm not upset! I don't want any of that! It's a principle thing. And we are getting sidetracked right now,” he adds. “Who is feeling sexy?”

Patrick smiles a little. “Getting there for sure. I just— I knew you had a rich dating history, David, I just didn't expect to be graced by the presence of two of your exes tonight,” he said.

“Yeah, funny thing, neither was I,” David points out. “Luckily they’re the only people I’ve slept with since coming here, so we just packed all the awkwardness into one meeting.” 

Patrick freezes, the glass of whiskey halfway to his mouth.

“Patrick?”

“Mm?” Patrick doesn’t turn to face him, but he can feel David’s gaze on him.

“Are Jake and Stevie not the only people I’ve slept with here?”

Patrick sighs and turns to face him. “I don’t know much about it,” he says carefully. “I just know there was an… incident, a while ago — before your family were telling you every morning — where you woke up in bed with some ex who came through town and you couldn’t remember how you got there.”

“Do you know who?”

“Um,” Patrick tries to think back. “I can’t remember whether Alexis mentioned a name. Just that they were… kind of awful to you when you were together, it sounded like.”

“Well, that narrows it down to… whatever pronouns she used, basically,” David mutters.

“Oh. It was a guy, if that helps,” Patrick offers. David smiles at him, a little lopsided.

“Hmm, good. So many delightful possibilities,” he says ruefully. “I’m just going to make a note to ask Alexis about  _ that _ horror show tomorrow, and then that’s probably enough discussion of exes tonight, I think.” David leans in, kissing him softly.

Patrick finishes his drink and takes both their glasses to the sink while David scribbles something in his journal before returning it to his bag. When he comes back David is sitting on the end of the bed smiling up at him and Patrick sinks down next to him. His head is swirling and he can’t figure out what he wants to do first, so he hauls David into a kiss, trying to still his thoughts.

“Relax,” David whispers against his lips.

“I am relaxed,” he mumbles defiantly, and it’s not entirely untrue. He just  _ wants, _ so much it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah, I can tell,” David teases. “Tell you what, if you’re comfortable taking your shirt off I can give you a massage. How does that sound?”

“A massage?” Patrick repeats, confused. David leans away, grabbing his bag and pulling out some massage oil from the store. Patrick raises an eyebrow.

“Did you pay for that?” he can’t help asking.

David rolls his eyes. “Well we don’t have a cash register yet, so…” he lightly brushes his lips across Patrick's. “Shirt,” he whispers, and Patrick hurries to comply, stripping off his sweater and t-shirt and kicking off his shoes and socks before lying on his stomach in the middle of the bed, flushing at David’s sharp intake of breath.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” David whispers, pressing a kiss between Patrick’s shoulder blades before dripping oil down his spine. “Jesus.”

“You're not so bad yourself, you know,” Patrick tosses back, his voice muffled slightly by the pillow. “In fact, you’re rather— oh,  _ God.” _

David pushes his fingers into Patrick’s shoulders, kneading firmly. “Good?” he asks, and Patrick tries so, so hard to use actual words but can only manage an unintelligible groan in response. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” David teases, running his hands expertly down Patrick’s back, massaging all the tense points Patrick didn’t even know he had until David’s fingers are easing them away.

“Mmph,” Patrick replies, as articulate as he can be expected to muster under the circumstances. He’s rock hard under David’s ministrations and is trying to count to one hundred in French to distract himself, hoping not to get too excited too soon.

Of course, all that goes out the window as soon as David slips his hands under the waistband of Patrick’s jeans.

“Is this okay?” David asks softly, and Patrick nods so hard he’s worried he might injure his neck. He feels David tug slightly and takes the hint, lifting up his hips and reaching his hands underneath himself to undo his belt and fly. When he’s done David pulls his jeans off in one smooth motion, leaving Patrick in just his boxer briefs, face down on the comforter.

“Roll over,” David whispers, hot and dirty into his ear and Patrick complies immediately. He thinks he’d do anything David told him to do in that voice and the thought is thrilling and terrifying, so he shoves it away and tugs David down for a kiss. What starts off relatively chaste soon becomes a furious meeting of lips and tongue as David sinks down on top of him, groaning. 

“Play fair, David,” Patrick says, tugging lightly at David’s sweater. David stands up, pulling his sweater over his head and placing it carefully on the dresser. He waits until Patrick is looking at him before slowly undoing his trousers and sliding them down his thighs and off, never breaking eye contact. Then he’s back, crowding around Patrick, his hands everywhere but only above the waist, and Patrick genuinely thinks he might be losing his mind.

“David, David please, I need you to touch me,” Patrick is beyond caring that he’s begging, a haze of lust clouding his brain. David pulls back slightly, propping himself up on one elbow and smiling down at him. 

“Can I…” he starts, running a fingertip along the top of Patrick’s underwear. Patrick can only manage another  _ “Please” _ but it’s apparently enough for David to slowly, reverently pull them off, leaving Patrick naked and panting under the intensity of David’s gaze. David settles in beside him, pressed flush along his side as his hand slides down past Patrick’s hip.

“You asked so pretty… don’t worry, I’ve got you,” David whispers, his breath ghosting over Patrick’s lips. He finally, finally wraps his hand around Patrick’s cock and Patrick has to focus very hard on the act of breathing. David’s hand is warm and large and firm and feels  _ so goddamn good _ — Patrick would have assumed before this that he was an expert on his own dick but David is stroking and twisting and flicking and—

“Fuck, oh fuck, David, please, David—” was all he manages to get out before he’s coming so hard he thinks he actually blacks out for several seconds. When he blinks his eyes open David’s grinning at him, his lips pressed to Patrick’s shoulder.

As soon as he catches his breath Patrick flips them over so David is sprawled back against the sheets. “My turn,” he growls, leaning most of his weight on David as he presses his face against David’s neck. “I want to suck your cock, David, I’ve been thinking about it for so long.”

David whimpers. “Don’t — oh fuck — don’t let me stand in your way,” he pants as Patrick rakes his fingers down David’s chest. “Just— shit— do what you’re comfortable with, you don’t need to try to—” 

Patrick silences him with a kiss. “Don’t worry, I’ve done research,” he grins as he moves his lips down David’s throat, his chest, his stomach. When he hits the top of David’s boxers he kisses the very top of them before sliding his fingers under them at the hip, pulling them down swiftly.

“I would have done that with my teeth, but I was worried they cost more than my car,” he jokes. Whatever David says in reply, though, is completely lost to him as he gets his first good look at a naked David Rose.

If David in a sweater was breathtaking, David naked is… Patrick doesn’t have the adjectives. He’s a vision, he’s exquisite, he’s everything. He lets his eyes travel from David’s neck and chest down to his hips before they’re drawn to David’s hard cock, leaking precome onto his stomach as he squirms while Patrick looks at him.

He trails one finger up the inside of David’s thigh and along his balls, not missing David’s shiver as he does so. Then he wraps one hand around the base of David’s dick before reaching out with his tongue to lick softly along the tip. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he whispers, and it’s true. Different from himself, but intoxicating. He slowly slides his mouth around the head of David’s cock and sits there for a second, acclimating to the hot, velvety feeling in his mouth and around his tongue. He wants more and gathering every scrap of knowledge he’s retained from Googling ‘how to give a great blowjob’ he starts swirling his tongue around, bobbing his head and hollowing out his cheeks as he moves his hand up and down. 

He’s vaguely aware of David murmuring words of encouragement, and he lets them flow through him. He’d been slightly worried about this part but God, he loves it, loves feeling David throb around his tongue, loves tasting the bursts of precome, loves hearing David pant and praise, loves taking him apart. Despite just coming a few minutes ago, his own dick is making a valiant effort to join the party and Patrick can only imagine how good it would feel to come with David’s cock in his mouth.  _ Next time, _ he thinks and hums happily, David hissing at the sensation.

“Patrick, fuck, I’m so close,” he groans, and Patrick really, really wants it but he also doesn’t want to choke and embarrass himself, so he pulls back and strokes David through his orgasm, letting him come on Patrick’s shoulder and chin.

_ “Fuck,” _ David murmurs. He looks dazed, and Patrick kisses him softly, unable to form the words he wants to say. He can feel the come cooling on him and suddenly feels a little self-conscious, so he presses a kiss to David’s temple.

“I need to shower, be right back,” he whispers, and David mumbles something incoherent in return. 

He showers as quickly as he can, not wanting to use all the hot water in case David needs to use it too. He dries himself off roughly before wrapping the towel around his waist, whistling as he heads back to the bedroom where he sees David, sprawled out on the bed looking delectable with the sheets barely covering him, blissfully—

Asleep.

“Shit,” Patrick hisses, rushing over to the bed to shake David gently. “David? Wake up.”

David blinks his eyes open slowly, staring at him.

“David?” Patrick says hesitantly.

David’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Okay,” Patrick says, trying very hard to calm his frantic heartbeat. “Don’t panic, David, everything’s fine. You’re at Stevie’s. I’m just going to call Alexis, okay?” He grabs his phone from the bedside table and is halfway through unlocking it when David  _ snorts. _

“Oh, you  _ asshole,” _ he says with feeling, and David starts laughing. “David, that isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” David argues, grabbing Patrick’s hand and pulling him back onto the bed. “Come on, the look on your face — it was a little funny.” He peppers Patrick’s face and jaw and neck with kisses until Patrick can feel his face relaxing into a smile, despite himself.

“God, I should have known you were screwing with me,” he says. “Last time you didn’t know me and I thought you did, you were a huge dick to me.”

David’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, what was this?”

Patrick had forgotten that their early days weren’t written down anywhere. So he tells David all about their first meeting, about David being totally incapable of articulating what Rose Apothecary would be. He talks about the rambling voicemails that, strung together, painted a picture of a really amazing business idea. He laughs about the comedy of errors that stopped Ray from telling Patrick about David’s condition. And then he threads one hand through David’s as he talks about the next morning at the café, about him teasing and David freaking out, about Twyla telling him David’s story. 

“Even then,” he finishes quietly, tangling his other hand through David’s hair, “before I had any idea what I was feeling for you, before I figured out the gay thing, I remember thinking what a waste it was for someone as smart and capable as you not to be able to realise your dream. I’m so grateful that I can help you make it happen.”

David smiles softly at him, but then it twists a little as he seems to pick up on something else. “I called you a  _ repressed accountant?” _

Patrick laughs out loud. “You sure did. I didn’t even really realise what you were implying about me — or about us — until later.”

“I’m sorry,” David says quietly. Before Patrick can open his mouth to reassure him, he adds, “because if I’d known you could suck dick like you did tonight I  _ never _ would have called you repressed.”

Patrick slaps a hand over his face. He can feel himself blushing all the way down to his chest, but he also can’t quite help feeling rather smug. But then David’s pulling his hand away and pressing their lips together, tongue flicking along Patrick’s lower lip until he takes the hint and opens his mouth. David brings both hands up to cradle Patrick’s jaw, licking into Patrick’s mouth and Patrick groans, unaware of anything beyond their bodies pressing together and tongues colliding, and he realises with a shock when he shifts closer that he’s hard all over again. That has never happened to him before and he grinds lazily into David’s hip.

David glances down and back up, a wicked smile curving his lips. “Fuck, honey, we are going to have  _ so much fun _ with this refractory period,” he murmurs as he starts kissing his way down Patrick’s chest. He circles one nipple with a very wet tongue before grazing it with his teeth and Patrick hisses, arching up into the touch. He watches as David continues his path down, licking and nibbling and kissing down to Patrick’s hipbone and opening the towel before continuing down his leg, bypassing his dick completely. He moans as David sucks a hickey into his inner thigh before looking back up at him, eyes dark where he’s nestled between Patrick’s thighs.

“I really, really want to suck your dick, Patrick,” David says, voice husky, and all Patrick can do is nod frantically. Then David’s mouth is on him and every thought Patrick had ever had flies out of his head.

Patrick has been on the receiving end of plenty of blowjobs in his life, ranging from mediocre to pretty damn great, and not one of them prepared him for this feeling. David is all wet heat around him, his tongue teasing the underside of Patrick’s cock as he sucks; Patrick can feel stubble scraping along the crease between his hip and thigh and he’s never felt anything better. He’s fisting his hands in the sheets trying to keep control and David must have noticed because he pulls back for a moment.

“I like having my hair pulled,” David says, and God, it’s so unfair that he can sound conversational when Patrick feels so completely wrecked. He’s nothing if not good at following instructions, though, and he pushes his hands into David’s hair. David grins, winks, and swallows all of Patrick down at once until his nose is pressed against Patrick’s abdomen and his tongue is lapping at Patrick’s balls.

A truly embarrassing high-pitched whine escapes his throat before he can rein it in. He winds his hands further into David’s hair and tugs, and is rewarded with David moaning around him. It feels like nothing Patrick has ever experienced in his life and it takes everything in him not to thrust up into it.

David pulls most of the way off, using that clever tongue to tease Patrick’s slit and swirl around the head before deepthroating again. That pace continues as Patrick loses himself in the sensations of David surrounding him, David’s hands stroking his fingers feather-light up and down his thighs, the amazing sounds David makes deep in his throat every time Patrick pulls at his hair. It’s too much and not enough and everything and Patrick can feel his orgasm building much sooner than he would have liked.

“David, fuck, I’m gonna come,” he groans. David pulls off but only halfway and flicks his tongue — and that’s it, Patrick is done. He can’t stop his hips thrusting up as he comes into David’s mouth, watching as David’s eyes flutter closed and he smiles as he swallows it down. David pulls off with an obscene slurping sound and he makes a show of licking his lips; the sight is too much for Patrick and he lets his head flop back onto the pillow.

“Holy fuck,” Patrick says once he thinks he’s capable of speaking again. David smirks.

“Filthy language, Mr Brewer.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you do to me, David,” Patrick laughs. “Now, can I— what do you—”

David smiles ruefully. “It would take me way too long to come a second time, because we can’t all recover as quickly as you,” he said, and Patrick can’t really see the problem with that until David cups his face with his hand and adds, “and the last thing I want is to be too wrecked to write all this down before I go to sleep.”

Patrick swallows down a huge surge of affection. “Can’t argue with that,” he says lightly instead, pulling David into him for another kiss. “God, David, I— thank you.”

“Thank  _ you,” _ David grins, but Patrick stops him with yet another kiss.

“No, really. I had… I had no idea sex could feel like this, and I just—” he shakes his head, frustrated. He can’t find the words for everything bubbling around inside him right now, but luckily David seems to understand because he strokes a thumb along Patrick’s cheekbone. They trade lazy kisses, letting their hands wander even though they know it’s not going anywhere else tonight.

Eventually, they manage to get out of the bed and get dressed, stripping the sheets. “I’m tempted to leave them for her,” David mutters, but Patrick points out that she would just bring it up loudly and often and irrespective of company which David concedes, throwing them in Stevie’s washer before they leave.

When they arrive back at the motel Patrick gets out of the car and walks David to his door. “Chivalrous,” David teases, so Patrick presses him back into the door and kisses him until his head spins. David whimpers a little when they finally break apart, and when they say goodnight and David goes inside he looks a little dazed, so Patrick feels pretty smug all the way home.

* * *

The problem with a night to themselves is that it’s burst a dam within Patrick. But each day when he sees David he has to wait for David to relax around him, figure him out, before they invariably wind up in the storeroom kissing and groping and clinging to each other. 

Patrick finds himself oddly grateful for David’s clubbing and hookup history. He thinks if it was him, someone who’s never even had a one night stand, he would never be able to be this overtly sexual with someone he thought he’d only met that day no matter how many journal entries he read about them. It makes it easy, sometimes, to forget that David is walking into this store every day with only a theoretical knowledge of their relationship.

Several days later they find themselves in the stockroom, Patrick pressed into the wall, David leaning into him, when Patrick pants against his lips, “Poker night.”

David takes a swift step back. “I’m sorry, is that a safeword?”

Patrick snorts. “Uh, no. No, definitely don’t stop what you were doing.” David grins and surges forward again, hands either side of Patrick’s head, grinding his thigh between Patrick’s legs.

“Ray has poker night tonight, which means he won’t be home until late,” Patrick explains. “You could — you could come over. If you wanted.”

“Oh, for pizza and movies?” David grins, the movement of his thigh getting more rhythmic.

“Mmm, we could do that, if that’s what you wanted,” Patrick says lightly as he presses soft kisses down David’s neck.

“Or?”

Patrick takes a deep breath. “Or, if you wanted, I could fuck you.”

David’s movements stutter to a halt. For half a second Patrick thinks he’s gone too far, but then David growls,  _ “Fuck _ yes,” and captures his lips in a messy kiss.

“I’ll have to go home and sort a few things out first,” David says when they finally break apart. “When do you want me?”

_ Always. _ “8 pm?” he says out loud. “We’ll want to wait until Ray’s well and truly gone, or he’ll… stay and chat.”

The look on David’s face makes it blindingly obvious what he thinks of that prospect. “Eight it is.”

* * *

It’s five past when David knocks on the door, which is actually pretty impressive for him. Patrick was planning to tease him about it, but he opens the door and his brain completely short-circuits.

David is wearing a leather jacket. And  _ eyeliner. _

He pulls David inside by the wrist, closing the door behind him and then slamming him into the wall to kiss him senseless. David is always hot but this is something else entirely; he’s oozing sexuality and Patrick is almost embarrassed by how turned on he is already.

“Upstairs,” he mumbles against David’s lips before pulling away with immense difficulty. David smirks at him but he allows himself to be led up the stairs and into Patrick’s bedroom.

“It came like this,” he says hurriedly as David takes in the wallpaper and the kitschy furniture.

“Mm-hmm,” David says, pressing his lips together. “Well, you’re going to have to work very hard to distract me from all this.”

Patrick looks him straight in the eye and starts unbuttoning his shirt, gratified when David swallows hard.

“That’s working,” he murmurs, shrugging off his jacket. Patrick’s a little sad to see it go, but — maybe another time.

They shed all their clothes before tumbling backwards onto the bed, Patrick on top of David, kissing hungrily. He can feel David pressed hot and hard against him and wastes no time in letting his hands explore David’s chest. When David groans as Patrick's hand brushes a nipple, he moves back to tease it with more deliberation, first with his fingers and then with his tongue as he listens to David whimper. When he bites lightly, David cries out, panting hard.

“Please Patrick, please, oh God, fuck yes,” he groans, and holy shit, Patrick  _ definitely _ has to work on making David beg more often.

He keeps making his way slowly down David’s body with his tongue, stopping occasionally to nip and kiss. By the time he reaches the abdomen David has his hands fisted so hard in the sheets his knuckles are turning white.

“C'mon, Patrick,  _ please,” _ David whines, and that’s all the encouragement Patrick needs to bend down and take David's cock in his mouth, holding David's hip down with one hand — he still can’t get it down as far as he wants, though not for lack of trying — as he bends one of David’s legs with the other.

Patrick grins, his mouth slipping off David's dick for a moment. "Lube?" he pants, pointing to the bedside drawer, the effort of keeping himself under control starting to get to him. David scrambles in the drawer, quickly finding the bottle of lube and a condom.

Patrick uncaps the bottle, pouring a generous amount of lube onto his fingers before sliding his mouth over David’s cock again. David gasps as Patrick’s finger starts circling his hole and by the time Patrick slides a finger in, there’s a filthy stream of obscenities pouring out of David's mouth, interspersed with the odd “More, God, please.”

Patrick is only too happy to oblige, adding a second finger as he moves his mouth away. He wants to watch his fingers disappearing inside David, wants to see David’s face, wants to take it all in.

“More, more,” David whispers, and Patrick adds a third finger, watching with delight as David twisted his hips up, looking for— 

“Fuck! Fuck, Patrick, please fuck me,” he whimpers.

Patrick slides his fingers out, eliciting a whine from David. He wipes the excess lube off them before opening the condom, sliding it on and grasping the base of his cock for a moment, silently praying he isn’t about to totally embarrass himself. He fumbles with the lube with his other hand and slicks himself up — with his left hand, but it gets the job done. He presses the tip of his cock to David’s hole and glances up at his face, silently questioning.

"Please, Patrick," David whispers, and that’s all the encouragement Patrick needs. He presses the head inside and— 

Holy fuck.

_ Nothing _ had prepared him for this feeling. David is all around him, and then he thrusts his hips up, just slightly, and Patrick slides inside in one smooth stroke, bottoming out before stopping, pressing their foreheads together.

They gaze at each other for a moment, Patrick pressing a soft kiss to David's lips. “Holy fuck,” he whispers reverently, the only thought left in his head, and David brings the hand with his rings up to his cheek.

“Please,” David whispers, and God, just listening to David beg has him halfway to coming. He starts to pull out, spellbound by how fucking  _ tight _ David is, before pushing in all the way again.

“Harder,” David demands, and Patrick lets go, setting an almost frantic pace. Their bodies are slick with sweat, David’s legs wrapped around Patrick’s waist. Patrick knows he’s babbling, complete nonsense, a lot of  _ oh fuck_s and _ holy shit_s and _ so fucking good_s he couldn’t control if he wanted to. 

Patrick feels his balls begin to tighten, and instinctively wraps a hand around David’s cock. David gasps, panting out sounds that are possibly Patrick’s name; it’s hard to tell at this point. Then David cries out — definitely Patrick’s name that time — and comes hard in between them. The sight sends Patrick tumbling over the edge with him, his face buried in David's neck.

They just lie there for a minute, limbs tangled, trying to regain their breath. Eventually Patrick feels himself start to soften and he pulls out, tying off the condom and placing it on the dresser. The second he lets it go David is tugging him back into the bed, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissing him until Patrick loses all sense of time.

“We should really get dressed,” Patrick says after a while.

“Okay, but what if we didn’t and instead you did that to me, like, four more times?”

“That’s a very tempting option, but Ray’s going to be home soon and he will absolutely come in to talk to us, in flagrante delicto or not,” Patrick points out.

David looks like he’s seriously weighing it up for a moment before saying, “Yep, that’s a mood-killer.” 

They get dressed, slower than they normally would due to stopping to kiss every few seconds. Eventually, they make their way downstairs and curl up on the couch, channel surfing for a while until they find something reasonably mindless to watch.

“I wonder if demonic possession would access my memories,” David says after a while. 

Patrick lifts his head from where it’s resting on David’s shoulder and stares at him. “I’m sorry,  _ what?” _

“It’s a fair question!” David gestures at the screen. “They’re making a point of saying that the demons can access the memories of the people they’re possessing; I just wonder if they could access all of mine, that’s all.”

Patrick clenches his jaw. “It’s a very disturbing question.”

“Okay, but… you do realise demons aren’t actually real, and this is all very hypothetical, right?” David’s keeping a straight face, but his voice is dripping with amusement.

Patrick turns to look back blindly in the direction of the television. “Excuse me if I don’t like the idea of my boyfriend running out and getting possessed just to try and remember his missing time,” he says hotly, and then freezes, hoping David hasn’t picked up on— 

“Patrick?”

“Shh, I’m trying to watch the show,” he tries, knowing it isn’t going to work. And he’s right — David puts a finger on his jaw, turning Patrick’s face so they’re looking at each other.

“I’m not going to run out and get possessed,” David promises solemnly, before grinning when Patrick rolls his eyes.

“Good to hear,” he huffs, but he can feel his mouth quirking up at the corners despite himself. David’s going to let it go. It’s fine.

David crowds in around him, pressing Patrick into the back of the couch. He licks a stripe up the side of Patrick’s neck and nuzzles in behind his ear before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there.

“Jesus, David,” Patrick moans, bringing his hands up to tangle in David’s hair. He pulls David back a little so their lips can crash together, panting as David’s tongue plunges into his mouth. David gets one hand up under Patrick’s shirt, teasing a nipple, and Patrick is just considering the merits of the couch versus having to go all the way up the stairs when he hears Ray’s key in the lock.

“Shit,” David hisses, rearing back and sitting up quickly. He goes from looking frantic to fairly composed unreasonably quickly so Patrick decides not to mention the state of his hair, focusing instead on willing his own erection away.

“Hello, boys!” Ray calls out as he walks past them to the kitchen. “What are you up to this evening?”

“Not much, just watching TV with my boyfriend,” David replies evenly, but when Patrick whips his head around he’s looking at Patrick with that little half-smile that means he’s pleased and trying not to show it. Patrick can feel himself flushing and can’t help smiling back.

“Oh, I love this show!” Ray’s voice breaks through the moment. He sits down on the other end of the couch next to David, who obviously takes that as his cue.

“I’m going to go,” he says, kissing Patrick softly. “You’ll see me tomorrow?”

Patrick nods. “Goodnight, David.”

* * *

Time passes as they snatch the odd bit of privacy they can find and set up the store. They’ve finally set a date for the store launch, and Patrick is feeling happy and free in a way he didn’t know was possible, so of course, _ of course _ it all comes crashing down around him. One minute he’s sitting at a rickety table out the back of the motel, laughing with his boyfriend’s family in the sunshine and eating a slightly charred slider, and the next Rachel is there, staring at him in shock.

Time freezes around him while they just  _ look _ at each other. She had texted him again that morning, said  _ I’m coming to see you, I want to see you _ and Patrick had replied, for the first time since he arrived in Schitt’s Creek, with  _ We’re not getting back together, don’t come _ but she must have already been here. Patrick is very, very dimly aware of Alexis calling him Rachel’s  _ fiancé _ — no ex, no qualifier — and his eyes snap back to David at that because he must know that isn’t true, right? But apparently David can believe it, and the look on his face as he staggers up from the table and walks away cracks Patrick open inside. And of course Patrick follows, because he’d follow David anywhere, do anything to smooth the hurt off his face.

Even if he knows he put it there.

When he enters the motel room David is pacing wildly, his breathing rapid and shallow. Patrick closes the door behind him quietly and stands in front of it, half-expecting David to bolt.

“David, please, let me explain—”

“Explain what, Patrick?” David’s voice is bordering on hysteria. “Explain that I’ve been some— some experiment, some secret, some damaged goods for you to fuck around with while your fiancée waits at home? Hey, it’s perfect, because you can disappear when you’re done and I won’t even remember you!”

“That is  _ not  _ what this is,” Patrick says, taking two steps forward to try and take David’s hand, but David backs up, keeping the space between them. Patrick’s hand drops back to his side. “I swear, David, I swear on everything, Rachel and I, we’re over. We were over before I came to Schitt’s Creek. We’ve been over for  _ months _ . It’s you, David, it’s only you.”

David stares at him for a long moment, his jaw clenched. “I wrote,” he says, sounding like he’s choosing each word carefully, “that you’re gay. Did I… get that wrong? Did I assume?”

“No,” Patrick says firmly. “I’m gay.”

“But you’re — you were — engaged to a woman.”

Patrick nods. “I… yes. I was. I didn’t realise — it never felt right, with Rachel. I kept trying to make it work, we were on and off for the better part of fifteen years, and I didn’t know why it didn’t feel — I thought it was me. I thought something was wrong with me until I came here, and I met you, and — it all fell into place. You make me feel right, David.” There’s more, bubbling up in his chest, but he isn’t going to say those words. Not now, not for the first time. 

David is blinking fast, but not fast enough to completely hide the tears. “Well, that is quite possibly one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard anyone say outside of the Downton Christmas Special,” he says thickly. Patrick takes a step forward again but David holds out a hand, warding him off.

“I don’t understand, though,” he says. “You and Rachel were on and off, I get that. But what I don’t understand is why she thought you could be on again, if you’re gay.”

Patrick’s pulse is racing in his ears; it’s all he can hear as he opens his mouth. Nothing comes out; his throat is dry, and he can’t find the words in any case. He watches David’s face move through confusion, shock, and hurt before it settles on something close to understanding.

“You’re not out,” David says. It’s not a question, but Patrick nods once, tightly.

“So then I  _ am _ your dirty little secret.” David doesn’t even sound angry; just tired and sad.

“No!” It explodes out of Patrick before he can stop it. “God, David, no, never. It’s just — it was so easy, here. I didn’t  _ have _ to come out. We just — and everyone just — there was no big conversation, I just was.  _ We _ just  _ were. _ And every time I talk to my family, I want to tell them, it’s all right there, but it doesn’t really seem like something you tell your parents over the phone. And besides… shit, I don’t know how to say this to you.”

“Try,” David snaps, and God, Patrick has never heard his voice sound so chilly. It’s awful, but it also steels him.

“I ran away,” Patrick admits. “I— I like to think I’m a take-charge guy, but when I realised I couldn’t live that life anymore, I just— bolted. Left Rachel, came here with next to no plan and no explanation to anyone. And— and with my parents—” he breaks off, taking a huge gulp of air. “David, I know my parents are good people. I do. But I hurt them when I left. There’s already this huge divide between us, one that I caused, and I— I think they’d understand — but what if they don’t react the way I hope they will? What if this changes everything?”

Patrick desperately wants to reach out, take David’s hand, but David’s body language is so closed off. He sinks down on the bed instead, and David perches himself opposite, on Alexis’. Too far away to touch.

“Have we talked about this before?” David asks. There’s something in his face that Patrick can’t quite read.

_ You could say yes. He wouldn’t know. _ It’s a fleeting, ugly thought, and Patrick hates himself for it.

“No, we haven’t,” he says instead. “We— we never really got into our pasts.”

David is quiet for a long moment. 

“Okay,” he says finally, breaking the silence. “Here’s what we’re going to do. It’s what, ten days until the store launch?” Patrick nods in assent. “All right. I… I need some time with this. And being able to look at it tomorrow, with a bit of distance, might help.”

“Right,” Patrick whispers.

“I think we should take a few days. I need to get my head around… all of this. You — you should probably really consider the implications of this. Of  _ us. _ Of me, with this condition, and whether that is something you’re all in on, or not. Because if you’re not, we need to know that before the store opens. We should meet at the store on Monday. That gives us enough time before the launch, or… enough time for me to figure something else out.”

Patrick wants to tell him,  _ I already know I’m all in. _ But David has asked for space, and Patrick knows what he needs to do with the time he’d been asked to give. He nods at David before heading for the door.

“Actually, Patrick…”

He whips around, hope blossoming in his chest.

“I, um, didn’t actually get a chance to eat.”

Patrick huffs out something that might vaguely resemble a laugh, because  _ of course. _ “Yeah, okay David. I’ll grab you a slider.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they were watching Supernatural. No, I will not apologise for this editorial choice.


	5. Chapter 5

After the worst night of sleep he’s had since arriving in Schitt’s Creek, Patrick goes to see his parents.

He doesn’t say much when he calls — just that he and David are taking a few days off before the store launch, and he wants to come out for a long weekend. His mom doesn’t seem to pick up on any strain in his voice, and Patrick wonders if he had felt this anxious and unhappy all the time, before. He doesn’t think he did, but he can’t deny that his life in Schitt’s Creek (at least up to last night) feels like a dream.

It should be a four-hour drive, but he adds twenty minutes to it by studiously avoiding the town he used to live in. It’s close to dinnertime by the time he arrives, and he gives both his parents a quick hug before he goes upstairs to freshen up.

He gives himself an embarrassingly long pep talk in the bathroom mirror. He truly, truly believes that his parents are good people, and he’s about 95% confident they’ll support him — but that 5% is terrifying. 

He can do this. 

God, he wishes he had David next to him for this.

* * *

His mom has made her famous lasagne, and Patrick stuffs himself with it as his parents ask careful questions about Schitt’s Creek and about the store. He’s been so distant with them, giving them only the barest outline of his new life, and he feels terrible about it. He can only hope that they don’t wind up wanting to keep the distance, after this trip. He’s missed them, so much.

He’s still trying to figure out how to work up to his big announcement, so when his dad asks if he’s seeing anyone while his mom is getting dessert, he chokes on his wine.

“Actually,” he says carefully, “I am. It’s, uh, it’s getting kind of serious.”

A huge grin splits across his dad’s face. “Well that’s fantastic!” he says loudly as his mom comes back into the room.

“What’s fantastic?” she asks, looking between them.

“Patrick has a new girlfriend!” his dad replies, and Patrick flinches.

“No,” he blurts out, and they look at each other before turning back to him.

“I’m confused,” his mom says after a second, and Patrick takes a deep breath.

“It’s not… it’s David. David and I are together,” he says, his voice shaking. “And I hope — I hope you can accept that.”

There’s a very long silence and Patrick stares at the table, unable to look either of them in the eye.

“So that’s why you and Rachel…” his mom trails off.

Patrick looks up at her cautiously. She doesn’t look disgusted, or angry; she looks as though a few puzzle pieces are slotting together for her.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I mean, I didn’t figure it out until after I left, but… yeah. That’s why I couldn’t make it work, with her.”

“Oh, honey,” she whispers.

His dad has been awfully silent, and Patrick finally plucks up the courage to look over at him. He’s frowning, and when he sees Patrick looking at him he clears his throat.

“Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” he asks, and Patrick gapes at him.

“Thought this through?” he repeats dumbly. He can feel his heart starting to race, every fear he had on the verge of coming true.

“It’s just… son, starting a romantic relationship with your business partner seems like it’s asking for trouble,” he says cautiously, and all the breath comes rushing out of Patrick at once.

“Wait, that’s your concern? Not the— the gay thing?”

His dad’s eyes widen. “That’s what you thought? Patrick, no, we have no problem with you being gay, right Marcy?” His mom quickly shakes her head in agreement. “We just want you to be happy,” he continues, “and this is— well, it’s putting a lot of your eggs in one basket, that’s all. And didn’t you say David is sick?”

He’s been very vague when telling them about David, partially so as not to make his feelings obvious when talking about him and partially because David’s condition is so hard to explain. But it all comes tumbling out of him in a huge wave of relief that his parents know,  _ they know and they still love him _ — all about the car accident, Goldfield’s Syndrome and what it means, the journals and the photos and all the work they’ve put into making it work for David so it feels like his store when he sees it every morning. He tells them about the second day he met David, before he knew about David’s memory issues, although he skips the part where David thought he might have given Patrick a blowjob in a club bathroom once. Then he tells them about Rachel’s surprise arrival, about David’s shock and hurt that he didn’t know.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you,” his mom says when he finishes, and it’s not a question.

“I really, really am.” 

His parents look at each other for a moment.

“Well then,” his dad says finally. “We’ll have to come out sometime soon and meet him.”

“Maybe after the store opens,” his mom adds, and Patrick can barely speak around the lump in his throat.

“I’d really like that,” he manages finally.

* * *

The rest of the visit flies by, and he actually finds himself reluctant to leave on Sunday afternoon, drawing out their goodbyes on the driveway until he’s running out of excuses. Schitt’s Creek is home, now, but he didn’t realise just how much he’d missed his parents.

“Oh, and take this back with you,” his mom says, pressing something into his hand. Patrick glances down to see a photo he recognises. It’s a photo of the three of them, Patrick and his mom and dad, taken at a family reunion a couple of years ago. 

“Oh, thanks. I’ll put it on the fridge,” he says, but she shakes her head.

“It’s not for you, sweetheart. It’s for David, for his book. So that when we come and see your store, he knows who we are.”

Patrick chokes out a sob. “Thanks, mom,” he whispers, and she kisses him on the cheek.

“Drive safe, son,” his dad says, clapping him on the shoulder, then hesitating before pulling him into a hug. His mom joins in as well, and then the three of them are standing in the driveway clinging to each other. 

He does eventually manage to get in the car, and he watches them in the rearview mirror as he drives away. Someday, he thinks, he’ll find a way to bring David here.

* * *

He doesn’t sleep on Sunday night, keyed up and anxious and terrified, so he winds up going on a hike up to Rattlesnake Point as dawn breaks on Monday. He stays up there a long time, hoping against hope that everything will be okay. By the time he gets home he’s exhausted and sweaty and spends a long time in the shower, and even longer trying to choose a shirt to wear. Even after all that, though, he still arrives at the store before David, and paces around for close to an hour before he finally hears the bell above the door.

David looks so  _ guarded _ as he enters, and it breaks Patrick’s heart. “Hi,” he whispers, and David returns the greeting. Then they just… stand there, and look at each other for a few moments, until Patrick can’t stand it anymore.

“Can I kiss you?” God, he wishes he didn’t sound so pathetic. At David’s tiny nod, though, he damn near sprints across the store until they’re standing toe to toe. Gently, so gently, he cups David’s face in an imitation of their first kiss and draws him in.

“I’m all in, David,” he whispers just before their lips meet. “No more secrets, I promise. I’m so sorry. I’m committed to you, and to the store.”

“Thank God,” David says, voice breaking, and then they’re kissing, and everything is going to be okay.

* * *

They launch the store on a Friday to a line halfway around the block and a steady stream of customers. And sure, the free food and wine is a huge draw, but almost everyone who comes in buys something, and the ones that don’t are at least effusive about the store and the products.

Patrick mostly stays behind the counter, and he struggles to keep his eyes off David. Not for the first time, he’s struck by David’s intelligence; not necessarily the in your face kind, but how many people could have memorised and understood an entire store’s worth of stock in a couple of hours, let alone been able to explain and upsell it to customers in a way that seems practised and easy? David is brilliant, and Patrick spends more of the launch than he’d like to admit with a fond smile on his face as he watches his boyfriend at work. He’s brilliant and beautiful and Patrick can’t keep it contained anymore.

It takes almost half an hour after the event was supposed to end to chase out the stragglers, but finally they manage to lock the doors and clean up the scattered cups and plates. When they’re done Patrick leans back on the counter, looking around the store with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction. David comes to stand in front of him, his arms wrapped around Patrick’s waist to kiss him.

“Look what we did,” David whispers, a grin stretching his face. Patrick slides his hands to David’s shoulders.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says softly. “And now that the pressure of the opening is over…” he takes a deep breath. “I love you.”

David blinks and takes a step back. “Okay, so… so you just said that to me for what I can only assume is the first time, seeing as I  _ definitely _ would have written that down.”

Patrick smiles a little despite himself. “I did.”

“Knowing that I can’t actually remember you before today.”

“Yep.”

“And presumably you know that I've never said that to anyone else, aside from my parents twice, and once at a—”

“At a Mariah Carey concert, I know,” Patrick finishes for him. “I don't expect you to say it back to me, David. It just felt right to me, in the moment, and I thought you deserved to know.”

“Oh,” David whispers, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, that… thank you. That’s very kind. I, um, think I should probably go, and… process that.” He leans in to kiss Patrick before Patrick can say anything else. “You’ll see me tomorrow?” David says, then basically runs out the door before Patrick can respond.

“That went well,” Patrick says to the empty room. He almost believes it.

* * *

An hour later Patrick is home, showered and just putting his pyjamas on when his phone rings.  _ David _ flashes across the screen and Patrick basically dives across the bed to grab it.

“David, hi,” he pants.

“Um, is this a bad time?”

“No, nope,” Patrick says quickly. “What’s up?”

“I just… um, can I see you?” 

Patrick looks at the clock. “I… yeah, sure,” he says. “I just have to get changed, then I could come over?”

There’s a pause. “Actually,” David says carefully, “I’m outside.”

“What?” Patrick’s feet figure it out before his brain does and he heads downstairs quietly so as not to wake up Ray. When he opens the door David is standing there, phone still pressed to his ear, clutching something in his other hand.

“Hi,” Patrick grins, hanging up. David’s answering smile is much more cautious but it’s there, and he’s there, and he gives Patrick a kiss as he steps inside. That means he probably isn’t planning to run screaming off into the night, which is a relief.

“You brought your journal?” Patrick asks, but realizes as soon as he says it that he’s wrong. The journal in David’s hands isn’t the one they bought in Elmdale; it’s both bigger and thicker, and looks very well leafed through.

“Can we talk privately?” David asks, and Patrick leads him up to his bedroom. He kicks the door shut and sits down next to David on the bed, close but not touching.

“I didn’t bring this for you to read,” David starts. “I just wanted to tell you something, and… this seemed like a good way.”

“Okay…” Patrick says cautiously. “I don’t ever expect to read it, David. But whatever you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”

David stares down at his lap, turning the book over and over in his hands. He’s clearly working up to something and Patrick doesn’t want to interrupt, so he just sits quietly and watches David’s face move through a number of facial expressions before he takes a breath.

“The night we first kissed, I filled six and a half pages.”

_ Is that a euphemism?  _ is on the tip of Patrick’s tongue, and Patrick has never been so grateful in his life for the self-control that stops him blurting it out. He just squeezes David’s knee instead, a silent encouragement to continue. 

“The next day, after I read it, Stevie took me to Elmdale to buy this. Now, the one you bought me is where I record the general day to day stuff I want to remember. Notes about the store, things about my family, stuff like that. This one… this one is where I write about you.”

“Oh,” Patrick whispers.

“I read through it this morning before I went to the store, but after you said… what you said… I wanted to take another look. This morning I read this like it was the first act of a romantic comedy.” David pauses, and his lips quirk up a little. “Well, except the huge misunderstanding and storming away fight is usually closer to the end, so… anyway. I went to the store, and met you, and kissed you, and it… it made me feel right.”

_ You make me feel right, David. _ Patrick wonders if that’s written down in David’s journal.

“And then you said — Patrick, I met you  _ this morning.” _ David is crying now, and Patrick is doing everything in his power to keep his own tears at bay. “You should feel like a stranger to me, but— but for some reason, you don’t. I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.” 

David takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m not sure if I can ever say it back to you, but I want you to know — when I read this, and when I’m with you, I think maybe… maybe, one day, I could.”

A sob escapes Patrick before he can stop it. “David,” he gasps, and next thing he knows they’re tearing each other’s clothes off. He spends a long time fucking David into the mattress, slow and steady and quiet and tender, whispering “I love you, I love you,” and David lets him say it.

* * *

Business is steady for the first month or so, and then it starts to dip. Patrick is the numbers guy, after all, and he’s starting to get a little concerned about the numbers. He brainstorms a few ideas to get people coming into the store, and keeps coming back to one — one he knows will work, one he knows David will hate.

He’s right. It takes him weeks to convince David that an open mic night is a good idea. David’s stubborn as hell, and the fact that Patrick has hosted them before doesn’t exactly seem to fill him with confidence. He wears David down in the end, though, and after they set a date, he very deliberately doesn’t do anything to make David regret agreeing.

Until the morning of.

When he sees David coming down the street he ducks into the back room. “Did you know Bob does beat poetry in his spare time?” he calls from out of sight when he hears the door open, wishing he could see the look on his boyfriend’s face.

“That information is enough to make me grateful for my Goldfield’s— what is  _ that?” _ David demands, voice rising, as Patrick appears in the doorway holding his guitar.

Patrick grins. “This is called an acoustic guitar.”

David swallows, staring at it like it’s going to come to life and bite him. “Right. It’s just that what I read this morning is that you would be hosting it, not performing at it.”

“Ah,” Patrick says, trying valiantly to keep his voice neutral in the face of David’s obvious horror. “Well, traditionally the host plays at least one song, so.”

“Right,” David replies. “So then you will be… playing your acoustic guitar. In front of people. In public.”

Patrick nods. “And singing a song,” he adds.

“And singing a song,” David repeats faintly.

“I was thinking about singing an original song,” Patrick grins, abandoning all pretence that he isn’t teasing.

“An original song?” David has apparently not yet figured out that he’s being wound up, if the pitch of his voice is any indication.

Patrick leans into it. “But then I thought, you know, it's probably best just to stick with a classic.”

“Yeah… classic,” David manages.

“So I'm sensing some apprehension.” 

“No, no,” David says, hands fluttering. “It's not at all scary or embarrassing for the person you're apparently dating, even though you can't actually remember him, to sing at you… with an acoustic guitar… in front of people. I think that's… cool.”

Patrick softens a little. He’s teasing because he thinks the end result will be worth it, but he doesn’t want David to have an actual meltdown. “David, you're going to be fine. It's just a way to get some people in the store, okay?”

David pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “Yeah. Yes. For sure. I mean, if you’re confident to put yourself and our relationship at risk like that, then I am… 87% behind you,” he grimaces.

Honestly, it’s a higher percentage than Patrick would have expected. He’ll take it.

“Good to know,” he says, and then just for the look on David’s face, adds, “So now the only question is, do I wear my fringed vest?”

David finally, finally seems to realise he’s being made fun of. “Okay,” he grumbles.

“Or more importantly,” he continues, “do I wear anything under it?”

David’s eyes flash, just for a moment, before the scowl is back. So… that’s something to tuck away for future reference.

Patrick plays the opening chords of Wonderwall as he heads back to put his guitar away, and pretends he doesn’t hear David’s yell of outrage.

* * *

Patrick expected a good turnout, but even he’s shocked to see the crowd in the store ten minutes before the open mic is due to kick off. David isn’t back yet, and Patrick is… well, at least 87% sure he’s not planning to bail altogether.

When David does walk through the door, just a few minutes before they start, Patrick almost spontaneously combusts.

David is wearing  _ colour. _

He’s used to seeing David in monochrome, and he loves it, but David has changed before returning to the store into a sweater with bright, flaming orange all over it. It’s absolutely breathtaking, and Patrick has to physically shake himself to stop staring.

“A lot of people are shopping and drinking,” David says when he approaches. “I don't even know if we need to do the open mic part.”

Patrick smirks. “Oh, we need the open mic part,” he says, and heads for the makeshift stage before David can say anything else. It’s not a large space, and everyone quietens down before he even has to say anything.

“Hey,” he says into the microphone. “I think we're going to get things started here. How's everybody doing?”

There are a few responses, ranging from half-hearted to Twyla’s full-belly whoop. He grins at her, appreciating the enthusiasm.

“Awesome! Thanks so much for coming to what I hope will be the first of many open mic nights here at the Rose Apothecary,” he grins over at David as he says this, expecting and getting the pursed lips.

“David and I are so excited you could all come,” he adds, just to add to David’s discomfort. “I see everybody's loaded up on drink tickets, so I guess I'm gonna get the party started, right after I tune up this little baby.”

He sees Moira sidle up to David as he tunes, and tampers down a brief flash of panic. Serenading someone, and serenading them in front of their mother, are two different beasts.

It’s fine. He can do this.

“All right,” Patrick says, starting to feel the nerves now. “I would like to dedicate this song to a very special someone in my life.” When he sees David’s face relax marginally, thinking Patrick is staying vague, he adds, “David Rose. There he is, right there — that's him. Can't miss him.” He grins in David’s direction, but David is very awkwardly waving and looking very put out. His mother leans over to say something, and David nods shortly at her.

_ Okay, Brewer. Here goes nothing. _

He takes a deep breath, and he starts.

_ “I call you when I need you, and my heart's on fire…” _

He sees the exact moment David recognises what he’s singing, sees him unfurl, sees him  _ enjoy _ it. A wave of relief washes through him, and he pours his soul into the next few lines.

_ “Speak the language of love like you know what it means…” _

Patrick doesn’t miss the way Moira’s arm shoots out to grab her son in that moment. He also doesn’t miss that David barely glances her way, staring up at Patrick like he’s really hearing what Patrick is saying to him. He sees the way David’s eyes fill at  _ I'm stuck on your heart _ and has to take a quick, shuddering breath before continuing.

He doesn’t take his eyes off David for the entire song. It’s not exactly great stage etiquette, but he desperately needs David to know that this isn’t a performance, that he means every word.

He finishes to loud applause and watches as David ducks through to the storeroom. He quickly welcomes Bob to the stage and then jumps off, following David before he can think too hard about it.

“Was that—” he starts once he’s through the curtain and away from prying eyes. Before he can finish the sentence David is on him, kissing him frantically.

“I love you,” David chokes out against his lips, and Patrick’s heart skips several beats.

He pulls back. “What did you say?” he whispers, terrified that he misheard.

David puts his hands on Patrick’s shoulders and looks him straight in the eye. “I love you,” he says again, soft but sure, and Patrick — Patrick melts.

“I love you, David,” he whispers, his eyes wet. And then David is kissing him again, and the rest of the world falls away.

* * *

When it’s all over and they’ve filled a trash bag to the brim with leftover cups and bottles, Patrick slides his hands around David’s waist.

“Ray’s out for the night,” he says quietly, grinning when David’s eyes light up. “So if you wanted to come over, I could probably clear some room in my schedule for you.”

David smiles down at him. “You mean I get to go home with the hot musician?”

“Any time you like,” Patrick whispers, and David leans down to kiss him.

“Seeing as you’re the superstar of this event,” he smiles against Patrick’s lips, “did you have any other plans for the evening?” 

“Actually,” Patrick says carefully. “I was hoping maybe you’d fuck me.”

David pulls back and stares at him. Patrick’s never been sure just how detailed David’s journal is — and God, he hopes Alexis never reads it — but it’s pretty obvious from David’s reaction that he knows this will be Patrick’s first time bottoming. He wonders, idly, if David has an actual checklist he uses to keep track.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “If that’s— I would like that very much.”

Patrick grins. Between performing and David’s reaction to it he’s feeling giddy. “Would you say you’d love it, maybe?” he asks. 

David huffs, but it’s not very effective through the wide smile stretching his face. “Maybe,” he allows, and Patrick’s grin turns into a much softer smile.

They make it home, David’s fingers dancing along Patrick’s inseam the entire way. By the time they get up the stairs, after stopping on every second step to kiss frantically, Patrick is so hard it’s actually starting to hurt. He opens his bedroom door, but David nudges him away.

“Let’s shower,” he whispers, and… yeah. That’s a good idea. He leads them both to the bathroom and David turns the water on before peeling his sweater off. They both strip off the rest of their clothes and Patrick steps under the spray, David close behind him. The shower isn’t really big enough for two grown men but they make do, David pressed close to Patrick’s back as he squirts body wash into his hand before softly, agonisingly slowly, running his hands all over Patrick’s body. It’s unbelievably intimate and Patrick luxuriates in it, wanting David’s hands on him all the time.

David drops to his knees, soaping up Patrick’s legs and ass before letting the water wash it all away. He stays there for a moment, looking up at Patrick.

“Can I…” he starts, then trails off. Patrick runs a hand through his hair.

“Ask,” he says. He assumes David wants to suck his cock, and he’s weighing up the pros and cons in his head of coming before they get to the actual sex part.

“I’d really like to — and it’s okay if you don’t like it — but I love — and some people find it easier in the shower, the first time,” David blurts out in a rush. Patrick still has no idea what he’s actually asking for, but David’s never led him astray so far.

“Sure, honey, if you want,” he says, cupping David’s face. David presses a quick kiss to his palm before spreading Patrick’s ass, and he realises what David wants about half a second before he feels David’s tongue lick across his hole.

“Holy  _ fuck,” _ he whimpers, his knees buckling underneath him. It’s the most intimate, filthy, amazing thing he’s ever felt and he wants more. David presses him against the wall of the shower and the cold makes him hiss for a moment but then David’s tongue is back, licking him again and again until Patrick can’t think of anything except this, right here. He’s completely nonverbal, just letting out a bunch of incoherent noises, and nothing will ever feel as good as this, nothing — and then David actually penetrates him with his tongue and Patrick  _ screams, _ his vision whiting out at the edges. David pulls his hips back a little, away from the wall, and reaches a hand up to wrap around Patrick’s cock. He slides his hand up and down once, twice, and Patrick comes with another loud cry, harder and longer than he ever has before.

It’s probably a solid ninety seconds before he realises David has switched off the water and is towelling them both dry. He lets David lead him to the bedroom and press him down into the mattress, placing a pillow under his hips before hovering over him a second. He pulls David down for a kiss, but David resists.

“Are you sure you want to—” he starts, and Patrick shuts him up by plunging his tongue into David’s mouth. They kiss for a long time before David finally breaks away.

“I believe there was a plan,” he says, reaching into the bedside drawer where he finds lube and a condom. Patrick watches with heavy lids as David places the condom carefully next to him and lubes up his fingers.

“I know this is new to you,” David says quietly as one finger circles Patrick’s hole, “so I’m gonna take my time, get you nice and opened up for me, okay?”

All Patrick can do is nod. It’s not completely unexplored territory — he’s fingered himself a few times thinking about this, and even bought a plug, but… well, David has a pretty big cock, so he’s not going to complain about prep time. 

When David slides his first finger in, Patrick just moans. He’s still feeling all boneless and floaty from his orgasm in the shower so he doesn’t even really clench around it, just accepts the intrusion. David really seems to be in no rush, though, and he fucks Patrick with just that one finger for several long minutes before he adds a second one. This time Patrick does feel it a little more and David grins up at him before he crooks his fingers.

“Shit,” Patrick hisses, arching up off the bed. David presses a kiss to his thigh and resumes the slow, languorous pace he set before, just with two fingers instead of one.

Patrick has no idea how much time passes before he’s begging David to add another finger. He does so immediately, as if he were only waiting for Patrick to ask, and Patrick hisses slightly at the first breach. It’s so good, he feels so full, and he lets out a yelp when David brushes his prostate again. David picks up the pace after that, thrusting his fingers in and out as Patrick curls his hands into the sheets. He can feel himself getting hard again and he’s starting to feel a little wild and desperate.

“Please, David, please, please fuck me,” he begs. In a heartbeat, David’s fingers are gone and he’s left feeling so goddamn empty, but it’s okay because David is rolling the condom on, slicking himself up as he watches Patrick. He moves Patrick’s legs slightly before pressing his cock up against Patrick’s entrance.

“Please,” Patrick whispers, voice cracking, and David nods, smiling, as he presses the head inside.

Patrick inhales sharply. It’s… a lot, much more different from fingers than Patrick was expecting, and he takes a few deep breaths, trying to adjust. He can feel himself clenching and actively tries to relax. David’s watching him carefully, making no attempts to move, and after a few moments, Patrick is able to nod at him.

“Slowly,” he says quietly, and David nods and smiles, like  _ of course. _ And he does go slowly, agonisingly slowly, centimetre by centimetre, watching Patrick’s face closely the whole time until his arms are shaking but he still doesn’t rush, letting Patrick adjust. Patrick is overcome with a wave of love so strong it almost overwhelms him, but then David bottoms out, their hips flush together. He’s so full, David is  _ inside him, _ and there’s no room in his head for anything except David, David, David David DavidDavid _ David _ — 

“Fuck me, God, please fuck me,” he almost sobs and David pulls out about halfway before sliding back down.

Patrick can feel him  _ everywhere. _ Sparks are flying down to his fingertips, there are nerves he didn’t even know existed tingling, he’s never wanted anything in his life as much as he wants this. He feels half-crazed and grabs at the headboard to steady himself, not missing the appraising glance David flicks at the movement. 

And then he’s not thinking anything at all, because David shifts the angle slightly before he starts fucking him in earnest, and  _ holy Jesus fuck. _ He closes his eyes and gives himself over to the sensation, the feeling of fullness, the spikes of pleasure as David hits his prostate, of nothing else existing but the two of them.

Dimly, he registers David’s voice, and he opens his eyes hazily. David must recognise how he’s feeling because he just smiles softly at him, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“I said,” he murmurs in Patrick’s ear between thrusts, “that if you want to come with my cock in your ass, you might want to do that, like, really soon.”

Patrick’s hand is on his dick before he even finishes the sentence, tugging at himself at a frenzied pace. David pulls himself up a little so he can watch, mouth hanging open and pupils blown. It’s that look of pure unbridled lust that finally sends Patrick tumbling over the edge and he clenches hard around David, causing him to come with a shout just a few moments later.

David pulls himself out and collapses off to the side of him, his arm draped across Patrick’s stomach. It takes them both a few minutes to catch their breath but when it’s evened out, David presses a kiss into Patrick’s shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispers into the skin there, almost — but not quite — too soft to be heard. Patrick grins, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

_ “Speak the language of love like you know what it means,” _ he croons instead of letting them fall, and David presses his whole face into Patrick’s shoulder as he laughs.

* * *

Something has been niggling at Patrick for the last few days, ever since the open mic night.

It’s in the quiet moments. When there’s no one in the store and David walks around facing the stock, when they open and close, when they take a break to eat lunch. It’s right there, if Patrick could just figure it out. It feels like that moment right after waking, when you try to remember your dreams; like trying to hear a song on the radio when the volume’s too quiet to make out the words or the tune. The more Patrick chases the sensation, trying to figure out the answer to a question he doesn’t know, the further it seems to slip away from him.

As David passes behind him to the stockroom, it all slams into place at once, so hard Patrick actually feels his legs buckle slightly. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“David, can I ask you a question?”

David pops his head through the curtain. “Sure.”

“We had an open mic night a few days ago. Did you write about it?”

David comes slowly back through to the main store, twisting his rings around his fingers in a way that Patrick recognises as uncomfortably nervous. “Yes, I did, a bit. Why?” 

“Can I— can you tell me what you wrote?” Patrick feels like he’s fighting for every breath, focusing on inhaling and exhaling. He doesn’t want to show any of this to David, not yet. Not until he knows for sure.

“I, um,” he starts. “It’s just— that’s supposed to be just for me, and I don’t—”

“I know,” Patrick rushes to interrupt, “and I swear I’ve never asked this of you before, I wouldn’t, except… it’s important. I’ll tell you why, I promise, I just need to know first.”

David takes a deep, shaky breath. “Okay, well, do you need all my musings on Bob’s beat poetry?”

Despite himself, Patrick huffs a laugh. “No, you can skip that.”

“Right,” David whispers, staring at the ceiling. “You… sang to me.”

“I did,” Patrick says quietly.

“And it was… God, I wish I could remember it, Patrick. Because the way I wrote about it… like it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.” 

_ Breathe, Brewer. _ “Did you— did you say anything about the song itself? What the song was that I sang?”

David furrows his brow. “Actually, no,” he says, slowly, as though he’s just realising. “Just that your voice was— um, was a lot better than I expected,” and there’s a flush to his cheeks that makes Patrick think he’s paraphrasing a bit. “And that I should have hated it, but it made me feel— something.”

Patrick  _ knows _ that last word isn’t what David wrote, but he isn’t going to push.

David visibly pulls himself together. “Okay, I held up my side. You promised to tell me why you were asking. Why did you need to know if I wrote down the song you sang?”

“Because,” Patrick says slowly, “I just realised you’ve been humming it for three days.”


	6. Chapter 6

It takes them three days to be able to get in to see David’s neurologist — and that’s with her shuffling several appointments to accommodate them. David made sure not to write down the name of the open mic song after they realised what was happening, and now that Patrick knows what he’s listening out for, he realises David is humming it damn near  _ constantly. _

They close down the store for the afternoon, not wanting to deal with the stress of entrusting it to either Alexis or Stevie on top of everything else. They drive out to the hospital together, David’s hand clutching Patrick’s in a vice grip the entire way.

Dr Stringer is not at all what Patrick was expecting. She’s all of about five feet tall with a long blonde braid, and looks incredibly young to be one of the most acclaimed memory specialists in the country. She has a firm handshake and a kind smile, though, and Patrick immediately warms to her.

David tells her what’s going on first, and Patrick fills in a few details for her. When they’re finished, she leans back in her chair, hands clasped together.

“Patrick, how much do you know about Goldfield’s Syndrome?” she asks.

Patrick frowns. “Just what I picked up from Wikipedia, and from David’s family,” he says. “That David can’t form new memories, basically.”

She nods slowly. “That’s mostly true,” she says. “Goldfield’s is a form of anterograde amnesia. Essentially, his short-term memories never become long-term ones; when he goes to sleep, they’re just sort of… lost. That’s the simple version, but the brain isn’t that simple.”

Patrick frowns, glancing over at David, who also looks confused. “Not that simple?”

Dr Stringer sighs. “Amnesia is a funny thing,” she says. “We don’t really understand the precise method the brain uses to store memories — we know what areas of the brain are in play, but right now we only know so much about how the different areas of the brain interact to really lock those memories in place, or what happens to them if they don’t get locked in.”

Patrick leans forward in his chair. “You’re saying his memories might be kicking around in there somewhere, just… inaccessible?”

Her gaze flickers between them. “I want to be really clear here. Absent some truly unforeseeable medical advancements, David won’t recover. He’s not going to wake up one day and suddenly be able to remember. But if you’re asking about what’s happening inside the brain — yes. It’s generally accepted that  _ something _ happens to the memories David makes throughout a day, we just have no idea what.” She pauses for a second, fixing her eyes on Patrick. “Tell me — apart from this song, have you ever noticed David knowing something he learned after his accident?”

Patrick starts to shake his head, because he’d have realised, right? He stops, though, and really thinks about it.

He thinks about David’s knowledge of everything they sell, even though it’s been a long time since he saw David pouring over the product binder. He tries to remember the last time he had to show David how to do something on the cash register, and can’t. He thinks about the way David says goodbye every single day with “You’ll see me tomorrow,” a phrasing that wouldn’t make sense if said by anybody else. He thinks about the early days, when there would be times David would hate the way Patrick teased him, and how that lessened over time without Patrick stopping to think why. He thinks about the way David touches him in bed, just how he likes it.

“Yeah,” he finally croaks. “Yes, there are some things like that.” He latches on to the cash register as a safe example.

Dr Stringer nods. “There, you see?” she says, looking at David. “Logically, if your memories were truly disappearing, you’d have to be taught how to use the cash register every single day. Some part of it, though, is sticking somewhere. Muscle memory, basically.”

David is nodding, but Patrick frowns. “That makes sense,” he says slowly, “except that muscle memory doesn’t really explain how he remembered a song I sang to him.”

The doctor’s eyes light up. “Ah, but there have been a lot of studies about music and memory,” she says. “Mostly around Alzheimer’s, which is obviously not what David has, but it’s not completely incomparable. There’s definitely research that indicates music can help with memory retention.” She smiles at them both. “Again, I don't want to give you any false hope here — you’re not going to cure Goldfield’s with your guitar. But…” she spreads her hands, “you might find that it helps a few things.”

* * *

When they get back to the motel Alexis is in her and David’s room, and Patrick stands quietly as David fills her in on their visit.

“It could be a coincidence,” Patrick says after David finishes. He said it several times in the car too, unsure if it was David or himself he was trying to convince. The hope has been bubbling up in his chest ever since he realised what David has been humming and he is so, so scared to let it take hold. “It’s not like it’s completely out of the realm of possibility for David to have heard Tina Turner somewhere earlier in the day.”

“I mean… we could try something, if you like,” Alexis says tentatively. “I just… I’m not sure…”

Something in her uncharacteristic hesitance makes Patrick very nervous, but David’s already agreeing and he doesn’t want to argue. He watches as she opens Spotify on her phone and searches for something.

He has no idea what he was expecting, but it probably wasn’t the dulcet tones of the Beach Boys blasting out of a phone speaker.

_ “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older…”  _

His face twists in a grin and he looks over at David, expecting some sardonic comment about Alexis’ music taste — but David has turned grey, stumbling back to press himself into the wall. His breath is short and sharp, incredibly loud in the small room.

“Jesus, Alexis, turn that off,” Patrick shouts, flinging himself over the bed to get to David faster. David’s clutching at his sweater like he can’t breathe and Patrick puts his hands on David’s arms, as gently as he can.

“It’s okay, David,” he says, fighting to keep his voice calm. “Just breathe in time with me, okay? Inhale, exhale.” He slides his hands up and down David’s arms at the speed he wants David to breathe. Slowly, mercifully, David starts breathing in and out more evenly. The colour takes a little longer to return to his face, and his eyes are still a bit wild.

“I have no idea why that happened,” David whispers, and God, he looks terrified. 

“Alexis?” Patrick demands, not taking his eyes off David.

Her voice is very small. “Um. That’s what was playing in the car. When we had the accident.”

Patrick has to close his eyes, focusing on his own breathing this time. “And you didn’t think to warn us that your idea  _ might give your brother a panic attack?” _

There’s silence, and then a small hitch of breath. Patrick didn’t mean to make her cry, really he didn’t, but the sight of David like this, absolutely petrified and shaking, is really getting to him.

“I thought if I warned him, it might not work. And it seemed… it seemed like a good way to test your theory. Because he doesn’t remember being in the car that day.”

Patrick and David make shocked eye contact before Patrick whirls around to look at Alexis.

“Holy  _ fuck,” _ he says, and behind him, David echoes the sentiment.

* * *

Patrick has always loved music. Now, six months after the frantic visit to the neurologist, he has a playlist for every moment he spent with David.

They’ve always played soft jazz during opening hours, at David’s insistence. But now they have music for opening and closing the store, playlists for the general domesticity of life, songs for driving and for date nights and for cuddling on the couch. And of course, the sex playlists. Yes, plural — indie and soft pop for when they take their time with each other, soft and sensual until they’re trembling and overwhelmed; edgier rock for the quick, dirty fucks that are just the right side of too rough. Those playlists have actually led to a few embarrassing incidents, like the time Alexis put Matt Nathanson on in the car and David had to quickly yank down his sweater to cover his crotch, resulting in several hours of panic over whether it had been stretched beyond repair. It’s good, this soundtrack of their life; and if it doesn’t help David remember actual events, it does certainly seem to help lock in emotions. 

Patrick is agonising over the next playlist he needs to create. The morning playlist.

They’ve talked it to death. Not just Patrick and David, but everyone else too; Alexis and Stevie, Mr and Mrs Rose, Dr Stringer. It’s more than a little frustrating having so many people involved in the decision of how and when he moves in with his boyfriend but Patrick knows it’s important to get this right. No one wants a repeat of the early days of David’s injury, when he’d wake up in a hospital he didn’t recognise and freak out.

Patrick moved out of Ray’s and into his own apartment a couple of months ago, and while David has spent many evenings there, he’s obviously never stayed the night. And God, he wants him to. He wants David to have a home here; wants them to have a home together. 

David has days of insecurity, sometimes. He thinks he’s a burden, that Patrick would be better off without him. He tried to shove Patrick at a customer who flirted with him in the store, once; Patrick had just smiled and kissed him senseless in the back room, the piece of paper with a stranger’s number scrawled on it tossed away and forgotten. These are old insecurities, where memory isn’t the issue at all, but they’re working through them. That’s part of why Patrick wants him to move in — he wants to give David this security of knowing he’s in it for the long haul, that David is an integral part of his life and not something he slots in where it fits. He thinks David knows this intellectually, but emotionally is another matter.

The plan is coming together. Dr Stringer recommends that David be prescribed a sleeping pill, to try and make sure he doesn’t wake during the night and not know what’s going on; David points out that waking up next to a stranger was hardly a rare occurrence for him, once upon a time, but she just archly asks if he generally stuck around to ask the strangers if they were actually his partner that he couldn’t remember due to a rare medical condition, and David has to concede the point. Patrick, after many years of snobbery regarding them, has bought a smartwatch so that he can have an alarm that buzzes on his wrist rather than the phone alarm which might wake David. Patrick’s apartment is ridiculously open plan, but he’s separated off the bedroom area with thick curtains so that David can have privacy while he absorbs the information about his diagnosis. And David has written the letter explaining it all, the one he’ll read each morning — because, he says, he knows his own handwriting and trusts himself above anyone else.

Everyone is a bit emotional when they finally make the call to go ahead and move in together. Alexis, surprisingly, more than anyone; after years of complaining about not having her own space, it turns out she’s gotten very used to having David around. Stevie isn’t much better, though she buys David a set of monogrammed towels and snarks about how he’ll cope without her to provide them for him. “Hope you’re prepared to be at his beck and call,” she tells Patrick, and he doesn’t think he should say how much he really, really is. They close the store for a few days, and the joy of a town like Schitt’s Creek is they can tell everyone exactly why. Patrick almost regrets that when he has to field a number of sex jokes from Roland, but everyone else’s support makes up for it.

The first morning, Patrick snaps awake at 5 am, an hour and a half before his alarm. He grins a little dopily at the sight of David sprawled out on the other side of the bed, snoring softly. He can’t believe he gets to have this; something as simple as waking up next to the man he loves is, for so many reasons, such a gift.

He thinks about going back to sleep but realises after a while that it isn’t going to happen, so instead he turns on the morning playlist — quietly enough that it won't wake David — and eases himself out of bed to take his book to the couch, pulling the curtains shut behind him. Normally if he was awake this early he’d head up to Rattlesnake Point, but he wants to be here when David wakes up in case of any issues, at least for the first few days.

It’s close to nine by the time David wakes up. The first thing Patrick hears from the bedroom is him tossing and turning, then he has to stifle a laugh at the mumbled “The fuck?” that follows. After that is the rustling of paper as David opens the letter that was left prominently on his bedside table, and then the sound of the bedside drawer opening where David has put his journals.

There’s silence for a long time. Patrick digs his fingernails into his palms and tries to control his breathing as he waits it out. Finally, finally, the curtain opens and David is standing there, sleep-rumpled and unfairly adorable and God, Patrick loves him.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says gently. David tilts his head.

“Hi, Patrick,” he says. “Will you come back to bed, please?”

There’s no way Patrick can turn down an invitation like that. He crawls back into the warmth of the bed, and he and David just look at each other for a long time.

“This letter says we’re in love,” David says finally. 

Patrick grins. “Yep.”

David brings a hand up to cup Patrick’s jaw, the same way he did the first time they kissed, and it startles a gasp out of him. 

“I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” David says quietly, “but this feels really, really right.”

* * *

The next year is not without its hiccups. There’s the time the fire alarm goes off in the building and Patrick has to snatch the letter from the bedside table, leading a bleary-eyed, upset David down the stairs and then pulling him away from the crowd so he can read it in peace. There’s the night David eats something questionable even by Café Tropical standards and wakes up with food poisoning, so has to deal with that abject misery on top of a complete stranger comforting him while he empties his stomach, until he’s well enough to read the letter. There are a few days where David just reads the letter and cries, but he lets Patrick hold him, so they make it through.

‘Never go to bed angry’, that most stereotypical of adages, becomes the golden rule of the Brewer-Rose household. David won’t be able to remember why they’re fighting in the first place and Patrick has a tendency to shove down any problems to avoid confronting them until they blow up in his face, so they both recognise that sleeping on an argument is a recipe for unmitigated disaster. 

They have some amazing times in that year, though, as well. They discover, completely by accident, that David can sleep for about an hour without his memory resetting; they delight in this newfound ability to wake up in each other’s arms, napping together in short bursts before the alarm goes off, trading sleepy kisses and blowjobs at all hours of the day. Patrick auditions for Cabaret, and realises that there are some benefits to a boyfriend who doesn’t remember any of the rehearsals or preparation, revelling in the look on David’s face when he sees Patrick in the Emcee costume, just as shocked and turned on the last night of the production as he was on the first. David, against all odds (both Goldfield’s-related and not), manages to throw Patrick a surprise birthday party, something he’s always wanted but never had, including finally getting his parents to come to Schitt’s Creek. The feeling that burst through his chest when he walked into the café to see all his friends standing there, David and his mom and dad in the middle, is one he won’t forget for a very, very long time.

Patrick is thinking about music again. He doesn’t need a whole playlist this time, though. The four gold rings that are hidden safely inside his hiking pack only need one good song.

* * *

This isn’t a romantic comedy. There will be no miraculous, medically impossible recovery. Every morning for the rest of his life, David will wake up and have to be told that he has a husband he doesn’t recognise; a husband who loves him.

But after he’s been told, Patrick will set out to prove it to him, with laughter and music and patient understanding. And because love is so much more than conscious memory, David will go to sleep each night in Patrick’s arms, safe and secure and content.

Even though it’s not a film or a fairytale, they will still live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a fun prompt to work with, and while I'm very open about the fact that I feel a deep-seated kinship with David Rose and am much more comfortable writing from his point of view, I actually really loved the chance to get inside Patrick's head.
> 
> I also tried my level best to make the entire concept less... problematic, shall we say, than the original film. Hopefully I managed, at least a little. :)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com).


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